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HOUGHTON,    MIFFLIN   &   CO. 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


THE   REVOLT   OF  A 
DAUGHTER 


BY 


ELLEN   OLNEY   KIRK 


BOSTON  AND   NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

(Cfre  Sttoersibe  |3rcs;s,  Cambribgc 

1897 


fis 

5   /   8  "7 


COPYRIGHT,    1897,    BY   ELLEN   OLNEY   KIRK 
ALL   EIGHTS   RESERVED 


To  J.  R.  H. 


CONTENTS. 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.    THE  MAKCHESA  RETURNS 1 

II.    A  QUAKER  UNCLE 18 

III.  A  NEST  OF  COUSINS     ......    28 

IV.  KITTY  AND  THE  MARCHESA        .        .        .        .37 

V.     "  LOVE  UNFULFILLED  " 54 

VI.    LIVE  PEOPLE  AND  GHOSTS 63 

VII.    SPIRITS  IN  THE  AIR 81 

VIII.  A  GAME  OF  THREE      .        .        .        .        .        .92 

IX.  GLEN'S  STRANGE  EXPERIENCE    ....  106 

X.     PLACE  AUX  DAMES 129 

XI.  IN  THE  GARDEN  BY  MOONLIGHT         .        .         .  144 

XII.    KITTY  FINDS  HER  WINGS 156 

XIII.  THE  NEW-FOUND  WINGS  ARE  CLIPPED      .        .  167 

XIV.  THE  SECRET  OF  THE  WATERFALL       .        .        .  187 
XV.    ANOTHER  WAY  OF  LOVE 204 

XVI.  "YOUTH  SHOWS  BUT  HALF"       .        .        .        .223 

XVII.    INS  AND  OUTS 242 

XVIII.     GLEN  SAYS  GOOD-BY 250 

XIX.  A  BIRD  IN  THE  SOLITUDE  SINGING    .        .        .  258 

XX.     TIME'S  KEVENGES 266 

XXI.    THE  ESTRANGEMENT 280 

XXII.  HALIBURTON  FINDS  HIS  OPPORTUNITY       .        .  288 

XXIII.  THE  RED  FLAG 302 

XXIV.  YOUTH  AND  ART 314 

XXV.    THE  WAX  OF  A  MAID 320 

XXVI.  LOVE  FULFILLED  .                                                 .  330 


THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   MAKCHESA   RETURNS. 

THE  Marchesa  Bertini,  in  her  plain,  black  silk 
gown  and  lace  fichu,  and  on  her  dark  brown  hair 
the  square  of  lace  which  suggested  a  widow's  cap, 
was  receiving  visitors  at  her  old  home,  "  Wald- 
stein,"  after  twenty-two  years  of  absence  in  Eu 
rope.  The  marchesa  had  her  own  delightful  way 
of  doing  everything,  and  in  making  tea  her  man 
ner  was  to  sit  before  the  samovar,  holding  a  cup 
in  her  left  hand  while  her  right  was  extended  in 
greeting  to  the  last  comer  to  whom  she  listened, 
asking  all  sorts  of  questions,  regaling  him  or  her 
in  turn  with  an  account  of  herself.  If  she  found 
a  moment  to  pour  out  the  tea,  she  was  certain  to 
make  such  long  pauses  between  the  samovar  and 
the  teapot,  the  lemon  and  the  sugar,  that  any  one 
athirst  would  have  fainted  in  sight  of  the  promised 
land,  and,  even  in  gaining  it,  would  have  been  likely 
to  find  the  cheering  cup  rather  cold.  Caterina  Ber 
tini,  a  girl  of  eighteen,  stood  beside  her  mother, 
and  it  was  she  who  effectively  provided  refresh 
ment  for  the  callers,  while  with  mischievous  strata- 


2  THE  EEVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

gem  she  permitted  the  marchesa  to  believe  that  she 
herself  was  promptly  dispensing  hospitality  in  the 
melee,  where  talk  was  warm  and  greetings  were 
many. 

For  it  was  a  gathering  of  the  clan.  All  the 
Amorys,  Darrows,  and  Amburys  for  miles  about 
had  come  to  greet  Constance  Bertini,  for  even  to 
those  who  had  not  known  her  in  her  youth  she  was 
a  family  tradition.  She  had  married  her  second 
cousin,  Philip  Amory,  at  the  age  of  nineteen.  lie 
had  died  in  Rome  while  they  were  on  their  wedding 
journey,  and  at  the  same  time  Constance's  father 
at  home  had  died.  She  had  been  motherless  from 
her  early  childhood,  and  this  absence  of  close  ties 
was  perhaps  sufficient  to  account  for  the  young 
widow's  staying  on  in  Europe,  instead  of  returning 
to  her  own  country.  That  she  should  prefer  to  do 
so  instead  of  coming  back  to  her  relatives  had  been 
the  subject  of  long  and  animated  discussion  and  in 
exhaustible  conjecture  among  the  two  families  of 
Amorys.  When,  however,  eighteen  months  after 
Philip's  death,  Constance  suddenly  announced  the 
fact  that  she  was  to  be  quietly  married  to  the 
Marchese  Francesco  Bertini,  the  family  comments 
on  the  young  girl's  crude  self-confidence  were 
changed  into  admiring  appreciation.  Her  bro 
thers,  her  sister,  half  a  dozen  brothers-  and  sisters- 
in-law,  to  say  nothing  of  scores  of  aunts,  uncles, 
and  cousins,  confessed  to  each  other  that  they  expe 
rienced  a  relief.  Instead  of  being  a  puzzling  and 
unaccountable  creature,  Constance  had  reinstated 


THE  MAECHESA   RETURNS.  3 

herself  in  everybody's  eyes  as  a  charming,  sensible 
woman  who  knew  how  to  use  her  advantages. 

Little  had  been  known  about  this  second  mar 
riage,  except  that  Bertini  was  a  man  of  double  her 
age  with  no  estate  to  back  his  title,  but  holding  a 
position  under  government,  which  enabled  him  at 
once  to  earn  a  certain  income  and  pursue  con 
genial  archa3ological  researches.  When  Constance 
had  been  his  wife  five  years,  Bertini  too  died,  leav 
ing  her  a  widow  for  the  second  time  with  a  little 
girl  of  three.  Even  now  she  was  but  twenty-six  or 
seven  years  of  age,  but  still  she  stayed  on  in  Eu 
rope.  After  this  second  widowhood,  however,  no 
one  thought  of  suggesting  what  course  she  ought 
to  pursue.  There  was  hardly  a  limit  to  the  deli 
cacy  with  which  the  private  personal  wishes  of  a 
marchesa  should  be  regarded.  But  after  her 
strange  fluctuating  experience  Constance  had 
bought  a  small  villa  not  far  from  Florence,  and 
had  lived  there  quietly  until  now  when  her  eldest 
brother,  the  inheritor  of  the  family  place,  had  en 
treated  her  to  come  back  and  see  her  home  and 
friends  once  more. 

Constance  as  a  girl  had  been  very  beautiful,  and 
although  she  was  now  a  little  past  forty,  she  seemed 
to  those  who  had  known  her  in  her  youth  to  have 
lost  little  or  nothing  of  her  early  beauty,  and  even 
to  have  gained  charm.  Her  hair  and  eyes  were 
brown ;  her  forehead  was  low,  very  wide  and  full. 
Her  features  were  well  moulded ;  her  mouth  beau 
tiful  for  twenty  different  reasons.  If  she  had  less 


4  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

than  her  old,  vivid  color,  her  tints  seemed  all  the 
better  to  suit  the  black  and  white  of  her  dress. 
But  it  had  always  been  in  her  manner  where  lay 
her  supreme  effectiveness.  If  she  had  gained  dis 
tinction,  there  was  still  the  same  absolute  simplicity, 
the  same  sincerity  and  sweetness,  all  expressing  that 
rare  and  perfect  mental  poise  which  at  its  final  test 
proves  generally  to  be  the  absolute  good  sense 
which  ought  to  enable  its  possessor  to  make  the 
most  of  life.  Had  Constance  made  the  most  of 
hers? 

More  than  half  the  visitors  to-day  were  entitled 
to  call  her  Constance,  but  she  said  to  some  one  who 
tripped  in  addressing  her,  "  Pray,  call  me  Mrs. 
Bertini.  I  care  so  little  about  the  title.  My  hus 
band  quite  rejected  it  for  himself,  and  was  simply 
'  doctor.'  H  marchese  meant  nothing ;  nothing  at 
all  in  this  generation.  And  now  when  I  have  come 
back,  it  seems  so  un-American  I  prefer  to  drop 
it  altogether." 

"  Don't  drop  it  for  the  world,  aunt  Constance," 
said  Mrs.  Darrow  Amory.  "  It  was  so  charming 
to-day  to  tell  people  we  were  driving  out  to  call 
on  the  marchesa." 

"  Most  of  us  call  you  Conny  Amory  still,"  said 
Ambury  Darrow. 

Constance  laughed,  and  told  of  going  after  her 
second  marriage  to  pay  a  visit  to  some  English 
friends  living  in  Rome,  who  had  brought  their  own 
butler,  a  solid,  severe-looking  man,  who  had  seen 
her  once  or  twice  as  a  widow.  The  portinaro  had 


THE  MARCHES  A  RETURNS.  5 

called  her  name  up  the  staircase  "La  Signora 
Marchesa  Bertini."  The  butler  had  gazed  at  her 
for  an  instant  as  if  stupefied,  then  had  announced 
"  The  late  Mrs.  Philip  Amory." 

The  marchesa  (for  so  we  ought,  perhaps,  to  call 
her  for  a  page  or  two  until  we  are  more  intimately 
acquainted)  constantly  introduced  her  daughter  to 
all  her  friends  and  relatives,  saying,  — 

"  This  is  my  little  girl,  Kitty,  short  for  Caterina. 
She  was  named  for  my  husband's  mother." 

Then  Kitty,  who  watched  her  mother's  every 
movement,  and  listened  to  her  every  word  with 
radiant  satisfaction,  would  exclaim  eagerly,  — 

"  Did  you  know  mamma  ?  Ah,  I  am  so  jealous 
of  all  the  people  here  who  knew  mamma  before  I 
was  born  !  Was  she  lovely  then  ?  I  am  sure  she 
could  not  have  been  so  lovely  as  she  is  now." 

Mother  and  daughter  set  each  other  off,  and 
played  the  part  of  foils.  Kitty  looked  sixteen  rather 
than  eighteen.  She  was  tall,  with  an  undeveloped 
figure,  and  a  slight  tendency  to  stoop  when  she  stood 
and  sat.  Her  long  thin  arms  hung  straight  down  by 
her  sides  when  not  in  play ;  her  hands  were  thin, 
brown,  and,  apt  as  they  were  to  be  a  little  scratched 
and  the  nails  clipped,  were  not  beautiful.  But 
Kitty  in  repose  and  Kitty  in  motion  were  two  dif 
ferent  persons.  She  was  nimble  as  a  monkey,  and 
the  moment  she  moved,  her  figure,  slender  to  mea- 
greness  although  it  was,  took  on  attitudes  full  of  a 
weird  foreign  grace.  She  startled,  surprised,  and 
charmed.  If  her  complexion  was  dark,  her  features 


6  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

were  strikingly  good,  and  it  needed  but  one  flash 
from  her  eyes  to  show  that  they  at  least  were  not 
only  beautiful,  but  so  amazingly  keen  that  they 
altered  the  whole  expression  of  her  personality. 
More  than  one  of  the  family  friends  to-day  who  took 
the  little  hand  in  his,  and  began  to  utter  some  con 
ventional  greeting,  was  robbed  of  self-possession 
when  Kitty  turned  the  illumination  of  her  glance 
and  smile  upon  him.  She  was  dressed  in  a  frock  of 
white  mull  with  a  fall  of  very  fine  embroidery  from 
the  high  throat.  Her  magnificent  braids  reached 
below  her  waist,  and  were  fastened  together  by  a 
silver  arrow  studded  with  small  brilliants. 

"  This  is  my  little  girl,  Kitty,"  the  marchesa  said 
to  Ambury  Darrow's  tall,  handsome,  blonde  daugh 
ters.  "  Kitty,  dear,  these  are  your  cousins,  the 
Misses  Darrow.  I  hope  they  will  take  a  fancy  to 
you,  and  be  good  to  you." 

"  I  am  Gatty,"  said  the  youngest  and  prettiest 
Miss  Darrow. 

"  I  am  Milly,"  said  the  second. 

"  I  am  Sue,"  said  the  eldest. 

Kitty  stood  a  little  alien,  a  little  aloof,  gazing  at 
first  one,  and  then  the  other  of  the  three  young 
women.  They  looked  to  her  so  consummately 
adult,  so  superabundantly  large,  so  radiantly  fail- 
as  to  be  overwhelming. 

"  Let  me  remember,"  she  said  in  her  clear,  delib 
erate  speech.  "  This  is  Gat-ti." 

"  Short  for  Agatha,  you  know." 

"Ah,  yes,  Gat-ti,  short  for  Agatha.  This  is 
Mil-li." 


THE  MARCHES  A  RETURNS.  7 

"  Milly,  short  for  Millicent." 

"And  this  is "- 

"  S-u-e,  Sue.  Short  for  Susan.  I  detest  the 
name." 

"  Sue."  Kitty  smiled.  "  And  you  are  all  my 
cousins  ?  " 

"  Second  cousins  removed.  Poppa  is  first  cou 
sin  to  the  marchesa.  We  are  actually  only  third 
cousins.  You  need  not  feel  oppressed  by  the  rela 
tionship.  I  do  not  consider  that  anything  except 
first  cousins  count,"  Gatty  explained. 

"  I  was  brought  up  to  love  all  my  American 
cousins,"  said  Kitty. 

"  Ah,  one  may  love  people  three  thousand  miles 
away." 

"  I  shall  love  you,"  said  Kitty,  with  a  little  nod. 
"  I  admire  you  all  immensely." 

"  That 's  frank  at  least.  I  only  hope  it 's 
honest." 

"  So  beautiful,  so  blonde,  —  so  different,  so  Amer 
ican." 

"  You  don't  like  anything  American,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  I  adore  it.  I  want  to  be  American  —  to  my 
finger  tips." 

"  You  had  better  give  it  up  then  as  a  bad  job," 
said  Gatty,  laughing,  "  for  you  are  Italian  from 
head  to  foot." 

Kitty  laughed  gleefully,  and  made  a  gesture 
with  both  hands. 

"  I  am  not  an  Italian  at  all.  In  Italy  they  say 
that  I  am  a  veritable  American." 


8  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

Kitty  was  deeply  interested  in  this  assemblage 
of  her  mother's  old  friends,  —  even,  as  she  had 
said,  a  little  jealous.  The  marchesa  had  guarded 
her  strangeness ;  in  Italy  they  had  lived  on  terms  of 
high  ceremony  even  with  Kitty's  connections  on  her 
father's  side.  Here  there  was  such  easy  intimacy, 
such  a  habit  of  absolute  candor,  so  many  allusions 
to  the  past,  such  imperative  questions,  such  unfal 
tering  answers,  the  young  girl  was  all  alert.  Gatty 
was  the  first  relative  she  had  met  about  whom  she 
was  curious  for  her  own  sake.  Most  girls  see  in 
each  new  figure  the  possible  friend  they  have 
dreamed  of.  Kitty  had  so  far  in  her  life  been 
wholly  absorbed  in  her  mother.  But  Gatty  was 
beautiful  to  her ;  she  was  lovely  in  tint  and  con 
tour  ;  her  eyes  were  large,  blue,  rather  languishing ; 
her  fluffy  hair  bright  gold.  Her  gown  was  blue  ; 
the  bodice  moulded  like  a  glove  to  the  figure ;  the 
skirt  of  great  amplitude,  all  worn  with  a  royal  sort 
of  ease.  She  filled  Kitty  with  a  joyful  sense  of 
life,  light,  and  color.  In  return  Gatty,  who  did  not 
appreciate  her  own  healthy  freshness  of  aspect, 
found  something  in  the  other's  dark,  eager  face, 
novel,  stimulating,  full  of  spirit  and  zest. 

While  the  two  girls  stood  each  in  her  own  way 
measuring  the  vital  and  mobile  individuality  of 
the  other,  the  marchesa's  hand  was  laid  once  more 
upon  her  daughter's  arm  and  her  voice  broke  in 
again,  — 

"  This  is  my  little  girl,  Caterina.  Kitty,  let  me 
introduce  you  to  Mr.  Haliburton  and  Mr.  Bonnie. 


THE  MAECHESA  EETUENS.  9 

Can  you  make  them  some  tea  ?  I  am  afraid  the 
water  is  cold." 

Kitty,  bestowing  a  single  stare  and  a  little  nod 
on  the  two  men,  flew  at  the  samovar.  Haliburton, 
a  man  of  middle  age,  with  a  clear,  sensible  face  and 
a  half -shy  manner,  offered  his  services,  which  Kitty 
declined.  Stepping  back  he  found  himself  by 
Agatha  Darrow,  and  the  two  stood  watching  the 
young  girl  at  the  samovar,  and  the  marchesa  talk 
ing  to  Glendenning  Rennie. 

"  I  am  interested  in  seeing  Glen  meet  the  mar 
chesa,"  Agatha  observed  presently. 

"  They  are  second  cousins  ;  they  have  known 
each  other  from  childhood." 

"  It  goes  for  granted  that  they  are  cousins," 
said  Gatty.  "  I  suppose  everybody  in  this  room  is 
related  to  everybody  else." 

"  Not  I,"  said  Haliburton.  "  I  happen  to  be 
your  father's  cousin,  but  I  am  not  related  to  the 
Amorys." 

"  Not  to  Constance  Bertini  ?  " 

"No." 

"  I  suppose  you  have  always  known  her  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed." 

"  You  knew  her  before  her  marriage  ?  " 

"  I  first  saw  her  in  Italy  twelve  years  ago.  Never 
since  until  .now." 

"  That  was  when  Glen  Rennie  fell  in  love  with 
her." 

"  I  suppose  all  the  world  knows  that  unlucky 
circumstance." 


10  THE  .REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

"  That  Glen  fell  in  love  with  her  ?  It  is  just  the 
one  thing  that  everybody  in  the  family  does  know 
about  Glen." 

If  this  actually  expressed  the  state  of  affairs,  the 
marchesa's  little  talk  with  Rennie  may  be  interest 
ing. 

"  I  asked  Richard  if   he  knew  anything  abou 
you,"  she  was  saying. 

"  I  suppose  he  told  you  that  he  knew  no  good." 

"  He  said  that  he  went  nowhere,  saw  nobody,  am 
knew  nobody." 

"  I  am  always  the  same  old  sixpence,"  said  Glen 
"  I  am  here  stuck  in  the  mud  as  usual ;  John  takes 
pity  on  me,  —  gives  me  a  home.     I  came  yesterday 
to  stay  with  him." 

"  I   heard   he  was   to   open  the  house    himsel 
instead  of  renting  it." 

"  He  has  opened  it.     I  like  it  prodigiously,  —  a 
charming  old-fashioned  place.     I  have  never  in  al 
my  life   enjoyed    anything   as    I    enjoyed   to-day 
John  gave  me  all  the  keys,  and  then  went  off  to 
town.     Not  a  woman  came  near  me  to  hinder  me 
I  ransacked  the  garret,  and  Dilsey  helped  me  bring 
down  all  the  bits  of  furniture  I  liked,  to  furnisl 
my  two  rooms.     I  always  felt  that  I  had  a  talent 
for  the  domestic." 

While  Rennie  was  talking,  Kitty  brought  him  a 
cup  of  tea,  but  he  did  not  even  glance  at  her.  He 
was  looking  at  Constance. 

"  I  also  go  about  rummaging,"   said  the  mar 
chesa.     "I  have  tried  to  restore  the  old  look  oJ 


THE  MAECHESA  RETURNS.  11 

tilings.  I  want  Kitty  to  sit  in  the  very  places  and 
do  the  same  things  I  did  as  a  child." 

"  Ah,  Kitty ! "  said  Rennie,  with  tragical  empha 
sis.  "  What  you  do  is  all  for  Kitty !  I  do  every 
thing  for  myself.  I  hate  the  younger  generation 
pushing  us  to  the  wall.  I  am  ready  to  say  to  them, 
4  You  are  taking  my  share  of  sunshine  and  life.' ' 

Kitty,  meanwhile,  unconscious  that  she  was  stand 
ing  in  any  one's  sunshine,  was  inquiring  of  John 
Haliburton,  on  whom  she  now  had  leisure. to  spend 
a  word  and  look,  whether  he  too  was  a  cousin. 

44 1  regret  to  say  I  have  not  that  honor,"  he  re 
plied. 

44 1  am  so  glad,"  she  returned,  with  the  air  of  im 
parting  a  confidence ;  "  my  cup  of  cousins  is  full. 
Another,  and  it  would  overflow."  She  drew  a  deep 
breath.  "  How  do  you  take  your  tea  ?  "  she  then 
proceeded  to  inquire  ;  and  when  Haliburton  an 
swered  that  he  had  no  choice,  she  said  she  would 
e  him  Russian  tea  —  that  everything  Russian 
was  the  fashion. 

44  Or  so  the  Americans  used  to  tell  us  when  they 
came  to  see  us  at  the  villa,"  she  added. 

44  Did  you  permit  the  Americans  to  come  to 
Fiesole  and  dictate  fashions  to  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

Kitty  explained  that  after  Easter,  each  spring, 
when  all  the  Americans  were  stopping  in  Florence 
on  their  way  back  from  Rome,  the  marchesa  had  re 
ceived  on  Wednesdays.  Days  longed  for,  dreaded, 
enjoyed,  then  dropped  into  comfortable  oblivion 
until  Easter  came  round  again.  The  marchesa 


12  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

liked  to  see  her  compatriots,  and  to  keep  herself  in 
touch  with  what  was  going  on  in  America.  Never 
theless,  she  used  to  say  each  year  she  should  never 
dare  go  back. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  Haliburton  inquired. 

"  We  were  so  delightfully  shabby.     The  Amer- ; 
icans  were  so  fine,  so  fastidious,  so  clever,  mamma  i 
said  they  had  developed  far  beyond  her  possibili-;>. 
ties  of    living  up  to.     They  knew  everything,  — jf 
all  the  history,   all  the  art,  architecture,  schools. 
Our  ignorance  of  what  we  knew  best  was  so  vast, , 
their  conversation  dropped  into  it  like  pebbles  into 
the  sea  —  it  was  swallowed  up.     Then  I  was  in 
such  awe  of  their  toilettes  !     Mamma  has  tried  be 
yond  everything  to  make  me  American  ;  but  those 
toilettes  cost  so  much !     You  see,  at  the  villa  we 
could  wear  our  old  things  comfortably,  as  the  pea 
sants  do,  feeling  that  a  good  thing  lasts  forever. 
When  the  Americans  came  to  see  us,  I  had  to  fall 
back  on  being  an  Italian.     I  am  an  exile  without 
a  country  ;  I  am  an  Italian  among  Americans,  and 
an  American  among  Italians." 

Haliburton  smiled  at  Kitty  as  at  a  child  one 
wishes  to  encourage. 

"  Is  the  gentleman  wrho  came  with  you  a  cousin  ?  " 
she  now  inquired. 

"He  is  a  cousin, — the  last  drop  which  makes 
your  cup  brim  over.  He  is  a  second  cousin  of 
your  mother's.  He  is  also  my  half-nephew ;  the 
son,  that  is,  of  the  eldest  child  of  my  mother's  first 
marriage,  my  half-sister." 


THE  MARCHESA  RETURNS.  13 

"  He  is  very  handsome,  I  think,"  Kitty  observed, 
with  the  air  of  a  connoisseur.  "  Quite  the  best 
looking  man  in  the  room.  What  is  his  name  ?  " 

"  Glendenning  Eennie.     We  call  him  Glen." 

"Cousin  Glen,  —  cousin  Glen,"  Kitty  repeated, 
her  face  taking  on  a  look  of  eager  mental  activity. 
"  Why,  I  remember  a  cousin  Glen." 

Rennie  hearing  his  name  uttered  at  the  top  of 
the  young  girl's  lungs,  turned  and  bowed  with  an 
air  of  high  ceremony,  opening  his  long  dark  eyes 
with  questioning  surprise. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  you  have  had  the 
impertinence  to  grow  up,"  he  said.  "  Why,  I  used 
to  hold  you  in  my  arms." 

"  I  used  to  kick  you  to  make  you  put  me  down," 
Kitty  rejoined,  with  nonchalance.  "I  remember 
you  very  well." 

"  I  never  supposed  you  would  take  it  into  your 
head  to  grow  up,"  Rennie  murmured.  "  It  is  the 
most  tiresome  habit."  And  he  transferred  his 
attention  to  the  marchesa. 

"Do  you  by  any  chance  remember  me ?  "  Hali- 
burton  inquired  of  Kitty. 

"Did  I  ever  see  you  before?"  she  returned, 
looking  at  him  as  if  for  the  first  time. 

"  The  marchesa  even  did  not  remember  me," 
said  Haliburton.  "  But  I,  too,  was  in  Italy  that 
summer  with  Glen." 

"  I  think  that  is  not  quite  fair,"  the  marchesa 
now  observed,  having  overheard  Haliburton's  words. 
"  For  one  moment  I  forgot  —  it  was  twelve  years 
ago." 


14  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

"  And  I  was  only  one  of  a  dozen,"  suggested 
Haliburton. 

"  One  of  a  dozen  of  mamma's  admirers  ? " 
Kitty  asked,  laughing. 

"  Well,  yes,"  said  Haliburton,  changing  counte 
nance  slightly. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  were  in  love  with 
mamma  ?  " 

"  Being  in  love  has  never  been  a  habit  of  mine," 
Haliburton  answered  evasively,  under  the  fire  of 
the  young  girl's  glance. 

"  Being  in  love  is  a  very  great  thing,  Caterina 
mia"  said  the  marchesa  in  a  tone  of  amiable  tol 
erance.  "  We  rarely  speak  of  it.  It  comes  but 
once  in  a  life." 

"  But  you  have  been  married  twice,  mamma 
mia"  retorted  the  logical  Caterina.  "  With 
which  of  your  husbands  were  you  in  love  ?  " 

The  marchesa  laughed  frankly,  and  both  Hali 
burton  and  Glen  Rennie  joined  her. 

"  You  see  how  I  have  brought  my  little  girl  up," 
she  said,  with  a  half-deprecating  gesture.  "  If  she  is 
an  enfant  terrible,  it  is  because  I  love  our  American 
frankness,  our  lack  of  subtlety,  our  atmosphere  of 
daylight  and  the  open  air." 

"  I  think,"  said  Kitty  in  Haliburton's  ear,  with 
a  look  and  tone  of  naive  content,  "  it  was  poor  papa 
she  loved,  for  she  has  talked  to  me  about  him,  and 
she  has  shown  me  his  picture.  Did  you  ever  see 
either  of  them?" 

Haliburton  replied  gravely   that  he  had  never 


THE  MAECIIESA  RETURNS.  15 

seen  either  Kitty's  father  or  his  predecessor. 
Kitty  then,  as  if  anxious  to  establish  Haliburton's 
identity  in  her  mind,  went  on  to  ask  the  most 
puzzling  questions.  Had  he  ever  been  married, 
and  why  not  ?  Too  old  ?  Why,  how  old  was  he  ? 
Over  forty?  Surely  there  was  yet  time.  Had  he 
given  up  all  idea  of  marriage  ?  Great  heavens  no, 
—  he  thought  of  nothing  else.  Thought  of  no 
thing  else  and  yet  near  forty-five !  Did  people 
have  to  get  married  by  the  time  they  were  fifty  or 
not  at  all  ?  Mamma  said  that  nothing,  not  even 
an  offer  from  a  reigning  prince,  would  induce  her 
to  marry  again,  but  she,  Kitty,  frankly  consid 
ered  it  would  be  a  pity  not  to  be  married  as  many 
times  as  one  might.  Mamma  had  been  married 
only  twice,  —  once  to  an  American,  and  once  to 
an  Italian.  This  Kitty  granted  to  have  been  a 
fair  use  of  opportunities  as  far  as  it  went.  But 
she  herself  was  in  favor  of  the  greatest  possible 
variety.  She  should  like  to  marry  an  Englishman, 
a  Frenchman,  a  German,  a  Spaniard,  a  Russian. 
Not  an  Italian  ?  No,  scarcely  an  Italian.  In  one 
short  life  one  could  not  do  everything,  and  she  was 
herself  partly  Italian  and  preferred  novelties.  An 
American  ?  Oh  yes,  it  went  without  saying  that 
at  least  one  husband  should  be  an  American.  She 
liked  nothing  so  well  as  Americans. 

"  I  am  a  veritable  American,  am  I  not,  mamma 
mia  ?  That  is,  in  everything  except  splendid 
clothes  and  looking  and  speaking  as  if  the  whole 
world  belonged  to  me  !  "  Kitty  added,  finding  the 


16  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

opportunity  she  was  always  seeking  of  intercept 
ing  her  mother's  eyes  and  ears. 

"  What  does  Mr.  Haliburton  think  ?  Does  he 
consider  you  a  typical  American  girl  ?  "  inquired 
the  marchesa. 

"  She  speaks  English  exquisitely,"  said  Hali 
burton. 

"  I  want  her  to  be  American  all  through,"  said 
the  marchesa.  "  I  have  tried  to  bring  her  up  an 
American  girl,  just  as  I  was  brought  up  an  Ameri 
can  girl.  Had  her  father  lived,  other  influences 
might  have  asserted  their  force.  As  it  is,  she  and 
I  have  been  bound  up  in  each  other.  We  are 
exactly  alike.  All  I  think  and  feel  and  know  and 
hope  and  believe,  she  thinks,  feels,  knows,  hopes, 
and  believes." 

It  was  getting  late.  The  low  sun  cast  beautiful 
gleams  of  crimson  and  golden  light  into  the  wide, 
pleasant  drawing-room.  Gatty  Darrow  came  up 
to  Kitty. 

"  I  hope  we  shall  be  no  end  of  friends,"  she 
said. 

Kitty's  smile  disclosed  her  small,  even  teeth. 
"  I  shall  adore  you !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  You  will 
not  care  for  me." 

"  See  if  I  don't." 

The  smile  was  still  on  the  young  girl's  face 
when  Haliburton  and  Glen  Rennie  said  good-by. 

"  The  little  thing  is  n't  more  than  half  ugly," 
Glen  observed  to  his  companion  as  they  walked 
across  the  grounds  towards  home.  "  My  first 


THE  MAECHESA  EETUENS.  17 

thought  was  to  wonder  how  a  beautiful  woman 
like  Conny  could  have  such  a  little  monkey  for  a 
daughter." 

"  Her  eyes  are  fine,"  said  Haliburton.  He  was 
not  used  to  bring  his  corn  to  market  in  the  green 
ear,  so  said  no  more  about  Kitty,  not  yet  having 
made  up  his  mind  concerning  her. 


CHAPTER   II. 

A    QUAKER   UNCLE. 

RICHARD  AMORY  had  stood  near  his  sister  and 
his  niece  all  through  the  reception,  but  so  far  we 
have  not  introduced  him  to  the  reader.  He  was 
the  eldest  of  the  family,  while  Constance  was  the 
youngest,  and  there  was  almost  twenty  years  dif 
ference  in  their  ages.  He  was  a  man  of  striking 
appearance :  his  hair  was  gray,  his  shaggy  eye 
brows  deep  black  ;  his  features  were  well  moulded, 
and  his  smile  was  pleasant  to  meet,  —  but  he 
smiled  rarely.  He  was  in  the  habit  of  saying  that 
he  himself  had  had  little  amusement  in  his  life, 
and  that  nothing  surprised  him  so  much  as  the 
amount  of  amusement  other  people  seemed  to  get 
out  of  things.  He  had  two  sons  well  towards 
forty  years  of  age,  —  married  and  living  within 
visiting  distance.  His  wife  (now  dead  about  nine 
months)  had  been  an  invalid,  living  in  the  rarefied 
atmosphere  of  a  sick-room,  and  seeking  one  form 
of  cure  after  another,  the  last  one  being  always  of 
miraculous  efficacy.  Richard  Amory  had  loved 
his  wife  tenderly,  had  had  infinite  pity  for  and 
patience  with  her.  Her  death  made  him  a  lonely 
man,  and  he  had  asked  Constance  and  her  daugh- 


A  QUAKER   UNCLE.  19 

ter  to  make  their  home  with  him  as  long  as  he 
should  live. 

"  I  want  thee  and  thy  little  girl  to  come  and 
get  the  good  of  the  old  place  while  it  lasts,"  he 
had  said  to  her.  "The  boys  will  cut  it  up  and 
sell  it  for  building  lots  the  moment  I  am  dead." 

Constance  in  her  girlhood  had  loved  the  place 
with  a  sort  of  passion.  It  was  called  "  Wald- 
stein,"  and  lay  about  eight  miles  from  the  city, 
on  what  had  once  been  a  country  road,  but  was 
now  become  a  bustling  thoroughfare.  John  "Wald- 
stein  had  come  out  from  Germany  more  than  two 
hundred  years  before,  and  had  bought  two  hundred 
acres  "in  a  fine  and  fertile  district  with  plenty 
of  springs  of  fresh  water,  being  well  supplied 
with  oak,  walnut,  and  chestnut  trees,"  to  quote  a 
chronicle  of  the  period.  His  grandson,  the  third 
John  Waldstein,  had  left  one  child,  heiress  to  this 
family  estate.  She  had  married  an  Amory,  and 
was  the  grandmother  of  Richard  and  his  sister 
Constance.  She,  like  all  the  Waldsteins,  had  been 
a  plain  Friend.  Her  husband  became  a  Friend 
so  far  as  occasionally  attending  meeting  and  thee 
and  thou-ing  his  wife  and  family.  Of  their  de 
scendants  a  few  had  been  worldly,  but  most  of 
them  Quakers.  Richard  Amory  was  one  of  the 
latter.  Constance,  on  the  other  hand,  had  at  an 
early  age  rebelled  and  thrown  off  the  yoke ;  yet  she 
sometimes  in  intimate  conversation  confessed  that 
she  was  still  more  a  Quakeress  than  a  churehwo- 
man,  and  that  she  loved  the  speech.  The  night  she 


20  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

and  Kitty  had  arrived  at  "Waldstein,  Constance, 
exhausted  by  the  voyage,  oppressed  by  recollec 
tions,  homesick  for  the  dear  old  villa  at  Fiesole, 
had  gone  to  her  room  feeling  strangely  lost  and 
desolate,  when  a  tap  came  at  the  door. 

"  I  just  came  to  ask,"  said  her  brother's  voice, 
"  if  thee  was  comfortable.  I  want  to  do  every 
thing  for  thee  that  will  make  thee  comfortable." 

Constance  flung  wide  the  door,  put  her  arms 
about  Richard,  and  said,  — 

"  It  makes  me  comfortable  to  have  thee  say 
4 thee'  tome." 

"Of  course,"  said  Richard.  "If  outwardly  thee 
laughs  at  it,  in  the  bottom  of  thy  heart,  thee  be 
lieves.  Because  with  thy  mother's  milk  thee  drew 
it  in,  with  thy  ears,  with  thy  eyes,  and  with  thy 
understanding,  thee  absorbed  it  in  thy  infancy." 

The  old  colonial  house  was  of  stone,  facing  the 
south,  with  two  wide  galleries,  one  above  the  other. 
The  main  structure  was  square,  but  was  flanked  by 
a  long  wing  which  at  its  end  became  part  of  a 
quadrangle  of  farm  buildings.  In  front  of  the 
house  was  a  long  level  lawn,  dominated  by  a  group 
of  three  tulip-trees  and  two  oaks  which  were  the 
joy  of  Richard  Amory's  heart.  The  gardens  and 
orchards  lay  to  the  east ;  the  drive  was  a  straight 
avenue,  bordered  by  maples,  leading  to  the  busy 
thoroughfare  on  the  west.  Beyond  the  gardens  be 
gan  what  was  left  of  the  old  forest,  and  on  the 
other  side  of  this  belt  of  woodland  was  a  group  of 
pleasant  retired  country  seats,  with  one  or  two  of 


A  QUAKES   UNCLE.  21 

which  we  may  become  familiar.  Had  Waldstein 
by  a  happier  destiny  lain  here,  it  would  •  not  have 
been,  as  it  now  was,  doomed  to  come  to  a  speedy 
end.  Speculators  had  been  clamoring  for  the 
place  for  five  years. 

"  Never  while  I  live,"  Richard  Amory  invariably 
answered.  Yet  to  have  sold  the  estate  would  have 
been  to  make  him  rich,  whereas  now  he  was  actu 
ally  too  poor  to  keep  it  up  suitably.  His  two  sons 
were  impatient,  incredulous,  when  they  heard  of 
the  offers  their  father  had  refused. 

"  Sooner  or  later  the  property  will  have  to  go, 
sir,"  one  said.  "  Why  not  now,  when  the  flowing 
tide  is  towards  you  ?  " 

"Never  while  I  live."  That  was  as  good  a 
phrase  as  need  be ;  Richard  Amory  adhered  to  it. 
He  would  almost  as  soon  have  sold  his  children. 

Probably  it  was  the  trees  he  loved  most,  and  no 
where  in  that  whole  region  of  fine  trees  were  his 
surpassed.  The  day  after  Constance  and  Kitty 
Bertini  reached  Waldstein,  they  went  with  him  all 
over  the  place  to  see  the  trees,  many  of  which 
were  just  pushing  their  buds.  Richard  Amory 
had  never  been  abroad,  rarely  being  able  to  com 
mand  the  requisite  ready  money. 

"  Twice,"  he  said  to  Constance,  "  while  thee  has 
been  living  in  Italy,  I  have  said  to  myself  that  I 
would  go  over  and  see  thee  and  a  few  other  things 
in  Europe,  —  principally  the  forests.  But  the 
money  I  expected  either  did  not  come  or  was 
needed  for  repairs,  so  I  stayed  at  home,  and  read 


22  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

about  Fontainebleau,  the  Black  Forest,  and  tho 
rest  of  them.  But  thee  has  been  there,  and  thce 
knows  whether  any  of  those  trees  are  finer  than 
mine." 

There  were  a  dozen  trees  on  the  place  whose 
trunks  could  not  be  spanned  by  the  three  linking 
their  hands  and  extending1  their  arms  to  their 
widest. 

Kitty  had  at  first  experienced  an  emptiness,  a 
dreariness  in  the  change.  "  Nothing  but  trees  and 
a  little  brook,  —  grass  and  hedges,  mamma  miu" 
she  had  said ;  "  one  might  qs  well  live  in  a  wood." 

It  had  been  different  at  the  old  white  villa  at 
Fiesole,  which  Constance  had  bought  for  a  song, 
and  had  lived  in  all  those  happy  years  that  Kitty 
had  been  growing  up.  Let  us  describe  the  way 
Kitty  had  spent  those  early  days  living  with  her 
mother  and  Lucia  and  Beppo.  She  slept  in  a  sort 
of  turret  into  which  her  mother's  room  opened. 
She  would  rise  early,  dress  stealthily,  that  she 
might  make  no  sound  to  disturb  the  marchesa's 
morning  nap,  and  in  summer  by  six  o'clock  would 
be  sitting  on  top  of  the  terrace  wall,  eating  bread 
and  honey,  her  eyes  fixed,  meanwhile,  on  the  wide 
reaches  of  the  valley  and  the  dim  mountain  ranges. 
She  liked  the  early  morning  view  of  Florence :  the 
river  with  its  mists  growing  pearly  in  the  sunlight, 
the  roofs  and  domes  and  campaniles  one  by  one 
emerging  out  of  the  sea  of  vapor,  which,  clearing 
little  by  little,  finally  retired  towards  the  far  with 
drawn  horizon,  where  it  changed  from  turquoise  to 


A  QUAKER    UNCLE.  23 

amethyst,  from  sapphire  to  emerald,  to  chocolate, 
[t  took  so  long  for  the  valley  to  wake  up.  Even 
when  the  poplars  and  the  olive-trees  stirred  in  the 
morning  breeze,  the  cypresses  stood  still  and  black, 
lolding  the  secret  of  the  night ;  when  all  the  other 
shadows  had  chased  each  other  to  the  ramparts  of 
:he  hills,  they  were  still  as  dark  and  mysterious  as 
jver. 

Her  fast  broken,  Kitty  would  go  to  feed  her 
birds  in  the  aviary,  already  calling  her  impatiently. 
Then  she  shared  with  Beppo  the  care  of  the  white 
donkeys,  the  black  goats  and  their  kids.  Besides 
these,  there  were  a  dozen  odd  and  harmless  pets, 
guinea-pigs,  two  squirrels,  and  a  marmoset.  If  it 
had  not  rained  in  the  night,  the  little  channel  from 
the  basin  of  the  fountain  on  the  terrace  must  be 
opened  to  irrigate  the  oleanders,  pomegranates, 
oranges,  and  figs,  besides  the  beds  of  clove-pinks, 
roses,  and  lilies.  And  when  Lucia  was  busy,  she 
was  apt  to  beg  the  signorina  to  go  to  the  back 
gate  and  watch  for  the  peasant  woman  who  brought 
the  milk  and,  each  morning,  a  roll  of  fresh  butter 
wrapped  in  green  leaves.  This  latter  it  was  Kitty's 
delight  to  work  over  and  over  in  cool  water  into 
frothy  pats  in  the  shape  of  shells  or  flowers.  By 
this  time  the  marchesa  would  be  ready  for  her  cof 
fee,  which  Lucia  had  made  black  and  thick,  and 
Kitty  would  take  it  to  her  mother,  with  hot  foamy 
milk,  crusty  rolls,  and  her  fresh  butter,  and  arrange 
them  on  the  table  in  the  upper  loggia. 

Then  again,  on  a  market  or  festival  day,  when 


24  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

Kitty  found  Beppo  and  Lucia  ready  to  set  out  for 
the  city  in  the  cart,  —  the  white  donkeys  standing 
sulkily,  their  heads  bent  down  as  if  never  to  be 
raised  again,  their  feet  set  stubbornly,  —  Kitty 
would  take  it  into  her  head  to  go  with  them.  In  she 
would  clamber,  instantly  falling  upon  the  apricots 
and  cherries,  and  off  they  would  clatter  down  the 
drive,  —  Beppo,  melancholy,  inert,  always  eluded 
by  his  wife  Lucia,  who,  dressed  in  her  best,  was 
sure  to  be  in  the  highest  spirits,  with  her  head  set 
off  by  a  flowered  handkerchief  and  her  bright 
silver  pins.  This  pair  was  in  the  foreground, 
while  behind  was  Kitty  in  a  blue  gingham  frock, 
her  dark,  laughing  face  half  hidden  by  a  wide, 
flopping  hat,  her  long  braids,  tied  with  red  ribbon, 
over  her  left  shoulder. 

Arrived  in  Florence,  devotions  must  be  attended 
to,  and  while  Lucia  plumped  down  on  the  stones  to 
say  her  prayers,  Kitty  had  time  to  wander  dream 
ily  round  the  duomo,  exchanging  greetings,  as  it 
were,  with  the  virgins,  madonnas,  bambinos,  angels, 
and  choristers  which  she  knew  and  loved  in  the 
mosaics,  frescoes,  paintings,  and  bas-reliefs.  Some 
times  she  stood  peering  up  into  the  dome,  wonder 
ing  ;  again  she  peeped  into  the  sacristy,  and  perhaps 
asked  questions  of  the  old  priests  busy  with  their 
cope-folding,  chalice-rinsing,  and  candle-scraping. 
Sometimes  she  herself  knelt  and  said  her  prayers 
in  one  of  the  chapels,  but  the  moment  Lucia's  final 
genuflections  were  over  Kitty  was  at  her  side,  eager 
for  the  market,  where  they  relieved  Beppo,  and  dis- 


A  QUAKER   UNCLE.  25 

patched  him  to  snatch  his  own  portion  of  grace. 
Little  that  went  on  between  her  portion  of  earth 
and  sky  escaped  Kitty.  She  knew  all  tile  rela 
tions,  all  the  cronies,  all  the  secrets  of  Beppo  and 
Lucia's  milieu.  Entirely  at  her  ease,  delighted  to 
be  looked  up  to  and  called  "  la  signorina,"  she  could 
in  turn  pass  opinion,  instruct,  compliment,  and 
chide  with  an  air  of  complete  ascendency.  When 
she  was  tired  of  the  chaffering  and  the  cheapening, 
she  would  call  Lucia,  and  ask  her  of  what  she  could 
be  thinking  to  waste  her  whole  morning  in  idleness. 
Then  Lucia  would  summon  Beppo,  accusing  him 
of  robbing  the  marchesa  by  his  loitering  and  lin 
gering.  Beppo,  in  turn,  would  spend  his  pangs  of 
conscience  in  punishing  the  donkeys,  telling  them 
they  had  eaten  their  heads  off.  Then,  all  rega- 
thered,  off  the  party  would  proceed  back  to  Fiesole, 
up  the  steep  ascent  between  white  villas  with  clois 
tered  courts  and  rows  of  box  and  laurel  and 
oranges  and  limes  ;  campaniles  guarded  by  two 
cypresses ;  high  walls  out  of  which  poppies  blos 
somed  in  every  cranny  and  chink.  Along  the  road 
they  would  exchange  greetings  with  some  old  wo 
man  bearing  home  clippings  from  a  vineyard,  her 
burden  making  her  look  like  a  moving  pergola,  or 
a  peasant  girl  driving  a  donkey-cart  full  of  the 
carnations,  larkspurs,  and  roses  she  was  carrying 
to  the  city  to  deck  a  wedding  fcsta,  her  wide  straw 
hat  wreathed  with  poppies,  while  in  shrill,  long- 
drawn  cadence  she  crooned  a  monotonous  chant 
about  a  sweetheart  and  her  constancy.  At  home 


26  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

again,  Beppo  would  be  dispatched  to  the  mulberry-  j 
trees  to  pick  leaves  for  the  silkworms  almost  ready 
to  wake  up,  and  Beppo  always  complaining  that 
the  sun  was  too  hot,  or  the  elevation  too  wind-swept 
for  comfort,  Kitty  herself  would  clamber  up  and 
fill  her  own  bag  and  rush  off  to  feed  the  ravenous 
creatures. 

Kitty  had  had  no  thought  of  the  picturesque- 
ness,  the  esthetic  opportunity  of  what  it  had  been 
her  daily  habit  to  see  and  do  and  think  and  feel. 
But  life  in  the  Tuscan  villa  had  been  pleasant, 
with  its  homely,  every-day  sights  and  sounds,  and 
the  feeling  that  she  was  necessary,  that  she  had 
her  finger  on  the  mainspring  of  the  whole  mechan 
ism,  had  been  not  only  a  call  to  action,  but  a  source 
of  pleasure. 

But  she  soon  found  new  interests  at  Waldstein. 
It  was  late  April.  The  weather  was  surpass 
ingly  beautiful  —  "real  American  weather,"  as 
Constance  said ;  she  had  been  homesick  for  it 
for  twenty-two  years.  Crocuses,  hyacinths,  tulips, 
violets,  and  daisies  were  springing  up  in  the  bor 
der  ;  the  woods  were  starred  with  liverwort,  wind- 
flowers,  and  bloodroot.  Pear  and  cherry  trees  were 
beginning  to  blossom.  It  was  not  Italy,  but  it  was 
beautiful,  nevertheless.  Then  all  through  the  woods 
appeared  the  snowy  bracts  of  the  dogwood,  clouds 
of  stars  making  a  wonderful  milky  way.  Kitty 
was  about  ready  to  believe  that  after  all  nothing  in 
the  world  was  quite  so  lovely  as  Waldstein.  The 
first  glimmer  of  pale  green  on  the  treetops,  the 


A   QUAKER    UNCLE.  27 

tasseling  and  blooming  of  the  shrubs,  the  twitter 
and  trill  of  the  returning  birds  went  to  her  head. 
She  and  Richard  Amory  used  to  go  over  the  whole 
place  every  day.  In  a  week  she  knew  every 
tree  in  the  wood  as  well  as  he,  every  flower  in 
copse  and  garden,  all  the  vegetables,  and  might 
almost  be  said  to  have  counted  the  blades  of  wheat 
and  rye  in  the  hill-lot  which  Richard  Amory 
planted  with  grain  each  year,  that  he  might  see  it 
wave  as  the  summer  winds  played  over  it. 

Richard  Amory  was  in  general  a  silent  man  ;  a 
man  used  to  silence  too ;  expression,  expansion, 
was  not  a  necessity  of  life  to  him,  —  hardly  a  pos 
sibility.  His  mind  was  always  revolving  the  same 
problem,  —  the  law  of  mutability,  the  inevitable 
decree  that  all  is  change,  that  nothing  can  endure. 
As  soon  as  he  was  dead  a  new  street  would  be 
opened  through  his  place ;  the  house  would  go.  — 
more  than  that,  the  clump  of  tulip  and  oak  trees 
on  the  lawn.  Tears  rose  scalding  his  eyes  at  the 
recurrent  thought.  He  knew  that  a  man  must  ac 
cept  the  inevitable  ;  he  had  borne  much,  and  with 
out  shrinking,  but  this  was  the  crowning  sorrow. 
Yet  what  difference  did  it  make  ?  The  human  race 
goes  on,  —  the  human  race  of  which  he  was  merely 
one  constituent  atom,  burning  itself  out,  and  soon 
to  be  extinguished.  Kitty  with  her  prattle,  her 
questions,  her  quick  impressions  was  another  atom, 
—  just  that  and  nothing  more. 

But  Kitty  pleased  him,  nevertheless. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  NEST   OF   COUSINS. 

Two  families  of  Darrows  lived  on  the  west  side 
of  the  old  Waldstein  woods,  —  Mrs.  Edward  Dar- 
row,  a  widow  with  one  son,  familiarly  called  Teddy, 
and  the  Ambury  Darrows,  whose  three  daughters 
we  have  already  met.  Not  far  away  was  John 
Haliburton's  place,  which  his  mother  had  inherited 
from  her  grandmother,  who  had  been  an  Ambury, 
and  who,  indeed,  was  also  the  grandmother  of  Am 
bury  Darrow,  who  was  accordingly  John  Halibur 
ton's  second  cousin.  The  two  were  law  partners. 
The  senior  was  a  little  man  with  a  face  full  of  energy 
and  force,  with  bright  eyes,  a  gray  mustache,  and 
a  lean,  pointed  jaw.  He  walked  with  a  limp,  talked 
incessantly,  cleverly,  but  with  constant  parentheses 
and  zigzags,  making  frequent  gestures.  His  wife 
was  large,  blonde,  handsome,  and  stately.  Before 
her  husband  she  was  habitually  silent.  It  was  not 
that  she  was  afraid  of  him,  but  the  two  lived  in 
different  mental  worlds.  He  admitted  nothing  as  a 
fact,  even  as  a  legitimate  conclusion,  that  he  could 
not  pin  down,  analyze,  and  inevitably  prove.  Mrs. 
Darrow  liked  theories,  and  had  so  wide  a  generaliz 
ing  sweep  of  mind  that  she  did  not  trouble  herself 


A  NEST  OF  COUSINS.  29 

about  mere  facts.  She  took  a  very  serious  view  of 
life,  and  unless  she  could  make  her  least  pursuit  a 
duty  and  responsibility  she  could  have  no  pleasure 
out  of  it.  She  even  made  up  her  menus  with  a 
view  to  the  different  articles  of  food  furnishing 
just  the  right  constituents  for  human  nutrition. 

She  had  accepted  her  three  daughters  as  heaven 
sent  responsibilities,  and  by  reading  all  the  books 
she  could  find  with  a  bearing  on  the  subject,  and 
listening  to  all  the  lectures  for  mothers  and  teach 
ers,  Mrs.  Darrow  had  soon  evolved  a  theory  about 
the  best  method  of  bringing  up  children.  The  ob 
ject  of  her  life  was  to  fulfill  every  one  of  their  pos 
sible  claims  upon  her.  She  had  watched  and  stud 
ied  them  from  their  earliest  infancy.  She  had 
filled  a  volume  with  the  notes  she  had  made  on  the 
personal  characteristics  of  each  of  the  three.  Thus 
understanding  them  thoroughly,  her  object  had 
been  to  make  life  as  easy  to  them  as  possible.  Not 
that  she  would  have  permitted  this  definition  of 
her  system.  On  the  contrary,  she  had  a  momen 
tous  theory  on  the  subject  which  was  this :  — 

Progress  and  improvement  are  a  matter  of  spon 
taneous  development  in  the  natural  order  of  things. 
Any  effort  to  aid  the  bourgeoning  of  a  flower  is 
more  likely  to  disturb  than  assist  the  result.  All 
that  can  be  done  is  to  furnish  heat,  light,  suste 
nance.  Nature  gives  the  irresistible  push.  An 
equally  scientific  method  is  required  in  the  bring 
ing  up  of  children.  Surround  them  with  good 
influences.  Let  them  have  all  they  need  to  fur- 


30  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

ther  every  enterprise  and  effort ;  let  them  adapt 
themselves  to  their  environment  and  work  out  their 
salvation  in  it. 

At  every  stage  of  their  careers,  Mrs.  Darrow 
had  demanded  of  her  daughters  that  they  should 
study  their  requirements  and  feel  sure  that  they 
were  expanding  in  the  right  direction.  Mrs.  Dar 
row  could  not  analyze  even  what  she  wanted  her 
self  ;  she  was  too  optimistic.  She  liked  the  rounded, 
the  complete,  the  symmetrical,  the  beautiful.  She 
felt  that  her  daughters  were  quite  clever  enough  to 
do  the  greatest  things.  Her  vague  wish  was  that 
each  should  appoint  herself  a  great  and  glorious 
destiny,  and  walk  forward  with  an  illumined  mind 
and  heart  to  meet  it. 

Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  their  unlimited  preroga 
tives  to  be  absurd,  the  Darrow  girls  had  grown  up 
rather  particularly  nice,  and  were  very  far  from 
being  as  individual,  as  eccentric,  or  even  as  highly 
endowed  with  original  genius  as  their  mother  had 
expected  them  to  be.  Each  had  from  her  child 
hood  done  whatever  seemed  to  her  best.  Each  had 
chosen  her  own  studies,  instructors,  place  of  educa 
tion.  Each  had  even,  been  offered  her  own  reli 
gion.  But,  after  all,  what  they  had  asked  for  had 
been  much  the  same  as  other  healthy-minded  young 
beings  of  their  age  and  sex  crave.  And  instead  of 
being  carried  by  irresistible  centrifugal  force  into  an 
erratic  orbit,  the  strongest  influence  they  had  so  far 
felt  was  the  purely  centripetal  attraction  of  home. 
Each  one  had,  it  is  true,  made  choice  of  an  oc- 


A  NEST  OF  COUSINS.  31 

pupation,  a  profession.     Sue  had  taken  part  of  a 
coui'se  in  hospital  nursing.     Millicent  wrote,  —  no 
body  was  quite  sure  what  it  was,  but  Mrs.  Darrow 
said  she  was  struck  by  Millicent's  literary  ability. 
Agatha  was  to  be  a  painter.     They  were,  as  their 
mother  said,  fitted  for  the  competition,  the  struggle 
of  existence.     Meantime,  without  any  competition, 
!  any  struggle,  they  remained  happy  at  home,  busy, 
|  absorbed,  more  or  less  useful  to  the  state  and  world. 
It  was  necessary,  Mrs.  Darrow  now  said,  to  expand 
before   concentrating   themselves.      Although    for 
i  success  it  is  necessary  to  have  a  specialty,  a  spe 
cialty  narrows. 

Their  father  adored  them  all.  He  frankly  con 
sidered  his  wife's  ideas  fantastic.  "  Oh,  she  is 
always  fooling  with  some  nonsense  I  can't  under 
stand,"  he  was  in  the  habit  of  saying,  yet  he  con 
sidered  that,  upon  the  whole,  her  bringing  up  of 
his  daughters  had  not  been  amiss.  They  were 
capital  company  for  him,  clear  -  headed,  lucid, 
fluent,  prompt  in  taking  up  any  idea  by  its  right 
handle. 

"  By  Jove  !  "  Ambury  Darrow  had  more  than 
once  remarked  to  his  partner,  "  I  do  believe  that 
Sue  would  have  made  as  good  a  lawyer  as  either  of 
us  if  she  had  half  our  training." 

Sue  was  by  this  time  thirty  -  one,  Millicent 
twenty-nine,  while  Agatha  was  in  her  twenty- 
fourth  year. 

"  I  have  always  thought  it  improbable  that  my 
girls  would  marry,"  Mrs.  Darrow  had  more  than 


32  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 


once  observed,  and  in  this  respect  they  had  so  far 
fulfilled  prediction.  Otherwise  they  had,  in  spite 
of  expectation,  failed  to  astonish,  even  to  shock, 
their  large  circle  of  relatives.  They  had  their 
place  in  the  social  world,  —  a  place  of  some  pre 
dominance,  possessing  the  advantages  which  belong 
to  family  prestige,  combined  with  a  large  income 
to  spend.  But  they  were  frankly  interested  in 
everything  that  went  on  inside  and  outside  of  so 
ciety.  They  had  a  finger  in  every  enterprise : 
could  dance  at  balls,  preside  on  committees,  run 
bazaars,  lead  clubs,  talk  philosophy,  poetry,  or 
politics,  all  with  the  keenest  enjoyment. 

Not  one  of  the  three  but  dreamed  of  something 
more  ideal.  Each  was  passionately  alive  to  the! 
tenderer  side  of  life  with  its  happiness,  weal,  and 
woe.  Each  had  pictured  for  herself  a  beatifio 
existence  as  a  married  woman,  with  some  possible 
or  impossible  husband  coming  from  the  every-day 
fairyland  of  a  girl's  fancy.  Two,  at  least,  of  the 
three  had  at  times  seen  in  the  flesh  the  ideal  mad 
who  might,  if  he  put  forth  his  full  strength,  winj 
her  and  realize  the  happiness  she  could  bestow. 
But  neither  expected  or  counted  upon  such  results ; 
indeed,  it  was  a  question  how  their  individual  viewaj 
of  life  would  harmonize  with  the  married  state.] 
They  had  thought  about  everything,  talked  abouc 
everything,  until  they  knew,  or  thought  they  knew,' 
the  taste  of  the  kernel  of  every  nut  offered  to  hu 
man  beings  to  crack.  They  were  too  radiantly 
feminine  not  to  have  the  strongest  desire  in  their 


A  NEST  OF  COUSINS.  33 

natures  to  be  beloved  madly  and  overwhelmingly 
by  some  man  stronger  and  nobler  than  themselves, 

•  but  almost  as  strong  was  the  desire  to  help  on 
the  world  in  their  own  way. 

The  older  Darrow  girls  had  seen  Constance 
Bertini  in  their  childhood,  and  it  gratified  their 
every  instinct  of  affection  and  curiosity  that  she 
had  returned  with  her  daughter  to  settle  among 
them.  It  was  also  a  subject  of  thought,  if  not  of 
remark,  that  almost  at  the  same  moment  John 
Haliburton  had  for  the  first  time  since  his  mother's 
death  come  back  to  the  neighborhood,  bringing 
Glen  liennie  with  him. 

That  Haliburton  had  returned  was  a  clear  cause 
Eor  congratulation.  In  spite  of  his  being  their 
ousin  and  their  father's  partner,  the  Darrow  girls 
had  never  seen  as  much  of  him  as  seemed  logical, 
even  inevitable,  under  the  circumstances. 

Sue,  in  particular,  had  always  had  a  feeling  of 
tiis  being  an  elusive  quantity.  Haliburton  was 
shy,  ill  at  ease  in  her  company.  And  yet  she  was 
ready  and  willing  to  have  done  a  great  deal  for 
him.  His  loneliness  since  his  mother's  death  in 
spired  her  sympathy.  He  was  used  to  a  woman 
in  his  life,  and  a  man  who  has  ever  been  used  to  a 
woman  cannot  get  along  without  a  woman.  Start 
ing  from  a  sentimental  point  of  view  a  man  needs 
affection,  the  tenderness  which  only  a  loving 
woman  can  feel.  A  woman  may  pet  herself,  alle 
viate  her  desolation  by  the  luxuries  and  amenities 
of  life,  but  a  man  is  so  helpless !  Then  from  a 


34  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

practical  point  of  view  Haliburton  needed  just  the 
right  wife,  somebody  to  look  after  his  social  and 
domestic  interests.  Without  her  he  was  simply 
wasting  his  existence.  Thus  it  appeared  the  most 
rational  act  of  Haliburton' s  career  that  he  should 
have  come  to  live  among  his  cousins  and  look 
about  him. 

The  coincidence  of  his  bringing  Glendenning 
Rennie  to  live  with  him  amused  all  the  neighbor 
hood,  for  it  was  well  known  that  Glen  had  been 
in  love  with  Constance  Amory  ever  since  he  was 
seventeen.  As  a  boy,  his  being  in  love  had  not 
counted  ;  but  when  at  the  age  of  twenty-six  he  had 
filled  out  the  term  of  a  vacant  consulship  in  Italy, 
he  had  seen  Constance  after  her  second  widowhood, 
and  the  passion  had  gone  deep,  —  as  deep,  that  is, 
as  anything  ever  went  with  Glen.  Every  one 
exonerated  Constance.  She  was  a  woman  abso 
lutely  without  coquetry.  She  had  been  adored  all 
her  life,  and  to  have  Glen  in  love  was  nothing  very 
particular.  Nobody  could  very  well  expect  her 
to  marry  for  the  third  time,  —  above  all,  that  she 
should  marry  a  delicate  young  fellow  not  only 
without  an  income,  but  without  a  career. 

If  at  the  age  of  twenty-six  Glen  had  been  with 
out  an  income  or  a  career,  what  was  he  at  thirty- 
eight  but  a  dead  failure  when  he  still  had  neither 
income  nor  career  ?  Without  any  chronic  ailment, 
he  had  been  unlucky  enough  to  have  one  long  ill 
ness  after  another  which  had  robbed  him  of  his 
chance.  He  had  done  clever  things.  Editors  oc- 


A  NEST  OF  COUSINS.  35 

casionally  accepted  his  poetry  ;  he  had  published 
!a  book  of  poems  entitled  "  Love  Unfulfilled," 
jwhich  certain  good  critics  had  praised.  Nothing 
could  have  been  more  taken  for  granted  than  that 
he  would  have  some  success  in  literature,  but 
lie  still  remained  just  where  he  had  started,  —  an 
occasional  musical,  dramatic,  and  art  critic.  Fas 
tidious  by  instinct  and  habit,  he  was  a  born 
Connoisseur,  loving  art  in  all  its  forms,  and  finding 
in  it  the  charm  of  a  continual  surprise  and  in- 
jspiration.  In  person  he  was  singularly  attractive : 
;his  face  was  unusual  and  striking,  long  and  narrow 
in  shape,  lighted  by  a  pair  of  intensely  brilliant, 
jdeep-set  eyes  which  were  of  no  particular  color, 
•but  in  different  moods  took  on  different  hues.  His 
smile,  too,  was  charming.  He  was,  as  we  have 
seen,  related  both  to  the  Amorys  and  Darrows,  his 
father  having  been  first  cousin  to  Ambury  Darrow 
and  to  the  father  of  Richard  Amory,  and  the  worth 
of  the  connection  had  been  deepened  by  long  habit 
of  affectionate  intimacy  and  association. 

Haliburton  was  quiet,  sedate,  and  from  his 
youth  had  an  air  of  discretion  and  wisdom  as  of 
one  who  is  never  caught  unaware.  It  had  been 
the  opinion  of  all  the  neighborhood  ever  since  his 
mother's  death,  five  years  before,  that  he  and  Sue 
Darrow  must  inevitably  come  together.  She  was 
bright,  fluent,  amusing.  Anybody  with  a  sense 
of  proportion  could  see  that  John  needed  just 
such  a  wife  to  balance  him. 

We  have  spoken  of  Mrs.  Edward  Darrow,  the 


36  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

widow  of  Ambury  Darrow's  brother,  but  we  must 
describe  more  particularly  her  son  Teddy,  a  youth 
of  twenty,  who  was  an  admirable  fellow,  handsome,] 
always  dressed  to  perfection,  whether  for  cricket, 
dinner,  his  wheel,  or  to  pay  visits.     He  gave  the! 
impression  of  conceit,  but  he  was  not  conceited,  — 
in  fact  rather  humble.     But  it  was  his  way  to  take 
himself  seriously,  to  weigh  every  word  if  he  gave 
his  opinion  about  the  weather,  even  to  eat  his  soup 
as  if  he  were  an  image  of  a  god  assisting  at  a  f unc- , 
tion.     He  was  penetrated  by  the  idea  of  the  im 
portant  place  he  had  to  fill  in  life,  and  he  rarely 
laughed. 

These  were  the  friends  and  neighbors  the  mar- 
chesa  and  Kitty  were  to  meet  often  and  know 
intimately. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
KITTY   AND   THE   MARCHESA. 

"  SIMPLY  the  most  adorably  sensible  woman  I 
ever  saw  in  my  life,"  was  what  Ambury  Darrow 
said  to  his  daughters  about  Constance  Bertini. 

Kitty  told  her  uncle  that  the  way  the  marchesa's 
old  friends  greeted  her,  Kitty,  was,  "  I  cannot  see 
that  you  resemble  your  mother  in  the  least.  Ah, 
she  was  the  most  beautiful  girl." 

Constance,  oddly  enough,  cared  little  or  nothing 
about  these  allusions  to  her  good  looks,  but  she 
did  pique  herself  upon  the  possession  of  good  com 
mon  sense,  knowledge  of  the  world,  and  power  of 
adapting  herself  to  her  environment.  To  what 
is  called  society,  "  all  festivity  and  a  round  of 
dinners,"  she  was  utterly  indifferent,  but  she  had 
the  faculty  of  putting  zest  and  charm  into  the  com 
monest  matters  of  every-day  life.  Without  any 
effort  she  became,  wherever  she  was,  the  central 
figure.  No  woman  was  ever  so  easy  to  live  with, 
so  cheerful,  so  good-humored,  so  indulgent  to  the 
faults  of  others.  But  then  it  seemed  as  if  nobody 
displayed  any  faults  to  her.  Her  satellites  revolved 
round  her,  coerced,  like  the  moon  by  the  earth,  to 
show  only  their  shining  side. 


38  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

She   had    not   been    at   j>he    head    of    Richard 
Amory's  house  a  week  before  it  seemed  to  him  he] 
was  living  on  a  new  scale  of  elegance  and  luxury ;  I 
and  yet,  on  analyzing  the  matter,  he  perceived  in 
was  only  that  the  servants  were  suddenly  inspired 
to  carry   order  and  method    into  certain    detailsj 
and  that  Constance  herself  possessed  the  magical 
trick  of  turning  everything    to    account.     By  tliel 
arrangement  of  a  spray  of  flowers,  a  dish  of  fruit 
and  leaves,  a  quickly  tossed  up  salad,  the  whole 
aspect  of  a  table  and  a  meal  was  changed.     Then,| 
too,  accustomed  to  the  European  fashion  of  sitting 
out  of  doors  in  pleasant  weather,  Constance  would 
have  afternoon  tea  and  after-dinner  coffee  served 
on  the  veranda,  in  the  summer-house,  or  under  the 
tulip-trees. 

"  It  is  the  knack  not  of  a  rich  but  of  a  pooM 
woman,"  Constance  would  say  when  her  methods 
were  commented  on.  "  Nothing  need  be  hideous 
or  dull  or  monotonous  unless  we  make  it  so." 

Kitty  had  an  intense  relish  for  carrying  out  the: 
least  of  her  mother's  ideas.  Almost  from  the  time 
her  little  daughter  was  born  Constance  had  expel 
rienced  a  vibrating  responsive  quality  in  her. 
Kitty  was  a  part  of  herself  and  she  was  a  part  of 
Kitty's  self.  To  each  the  look,  speech,  touch  of 
the  other  was  the  answer  to  a  need,  the  satisfaction 
of  a  hunger.  In  rearing  her  child,  Constance  had 
treated  her  simply  as  another  Constance  Bertini, 
pouring  into  the  opening  heart  and  mind  her  own 
knowledge,  beliefs,  logic,  instincts,  like  a  strength- 


KITTY  AND   THE  MAECHESA.  39 

•  en ing  cordial.     Whatever  her  mother  had  felt  or 
'done  Kitty  expected  in  her  time  to  feel  and  do. 
:-To  Kitty  her   mother's  wit,    skill,  resource,  were 
inexhaustible.     Her  manner,  her  conversation,  her 
dress,  although  it  was  always  the  same,  was  some 
thing  to  study  and  find  poetry  in.     To  do  things 
ias  her  mother   did   was   an   impossible  dream  of 
perfection.     Yet    through    some    efficacy   of    her 
..mother's,  —  not  through  any  grace  of  her  own,  — 
;  Kitty  expected  ultimately  to  attain  it.     Constance 
had  such  a  world   of  pretty  ways  the  young  girl 
; would  have  liked  to  appropriate   to   herself :  her 
ieasy  mastery  of   her  toilette,  for  example.     Con 
stance  gathered  up  the  masses  of  her  bright  brown 
•hair,  gave  them  first  a  toss,  then  two  twists  and 
&a  coil,  ran  three  pins  through  the  knot,  and  the 
coiffure   was   complete,  ready  for   the   little  cap. 
:The  thing  was  done    and  done  beautifully.     She 
'slid  into  her  gown  in  an  instant.     Nothing  caught, 
nothing  tore,  nothing  was  in  the  way  or  out  of  the 
way.     Grace,  finish,  symmetry,  perfection  of  detail 
without  effort,  —  all  these  were  a  part  of  the  mar- 
•chesa's  personality  ;  also  promptness  without  haste. 
Kitty  herself  alternated  between  long  dawdling 
and  tearing  hurry,  was  always  ready  so  early  that 
her  soul  died  within  her  while  she  waited  for  the 
time  to  come,  or  so  late  that  she  lost  the  cream  of 
.things.     Then,  too,  her  own  frocks  were  always  an 
embarrassment,   either  so  short  she  was  not  pre 
sentable  before  visitors,  or  so  long  that  she  tore 
and  soiled  them  in  climbing  trees  or  running  races 


40  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

with  the  dogs.  To  Kitty  clothes  seemed  invented 
simply  to  hinder  her  from  play.  Her  mother's; 
simple  elegance,  her  aerial  freedom  from  thought 
or  consciousness  about  herself,  her  readiness  to! 
throw  herself  into  any  occupation  of  the  moment, : 
were  at  once  Kitty's  delight  and  her  despair. 

"  Mamma  mia,  shall  I-  ever,  can  I  ever,  be  like- 
you  ?  "  she  would  cry  out. 

"  Better  than  I  am  I  hope,"  Constance  would) 
reply.  "  I  had  no  mother  to  tell  me  things." 

Constance  not  only  said  this  to  Kitty  but  she! 
said  to  herself,  "  I  made  mistakes ;  I  had  no 
mother  to  show  me  how  to  avoid  making  mistakes, 
but  Kitty  shall  make  none." 

"  Did  hooks  and  buttons  ever  get  in  your  way  ?1 
Did  your  hair  ever  get  into  snarls  and  knots  ?  "j 
Kitty  would  ask. 

"  Everything  got  in  my  way.     It  used  to  seena 
to  me  as  if  all  I  needed  to  be  perfectly  happy  was] 
to  have  my  hair  clipped  close  to  my  head,  I  hated 
it  so.     Now,  Kitty,  I  really  think  you  are  getting 
to  do  your  braids  beautifully." 

Kitty  drew  a  long  breath.     She  was  not  oftenj 
praised,  indeed  she  was  not  often  criticised.     Con-| 
stance  fancied  it  destroyed  simplicity  of  character 
to  analyze,  to  dwell  on  traits,  to  make  allusions  to 
habits,  tastes,  individual  inclinations.     Instead,  she 
meant  at  every  turn  to  direct  Kitty,  to  mould  her, 
to  prepare  and  brace  her  for  the  greater  ordeals  of 
life. 

"  When  may  I  put  my  braids  up  on  my  head  ?  " 
Kitty  asked. 


KITTY  AND   THE  MAECHESA.  41 

"  Oh,  I  would  wait  a  little,  would  you  not  ?  Of 
course  it  is  nice  for  me  to  keep  you  a  little  girl, 
but  that  is  not  the  main  thing.  It  seems  to  me  it 
is  nice  for  you  to  be  kept  a  little  girl.  So  long 
as  you  are  a  mere  child  you  can  come  into  the 
drawing-room,  or  stay  away,  just  as  you  please. 
You  may  be  a  little  careless  about  your  dress,  and 
nothing  matters  very  particularly.  But  if  you 
put  up  your  hair  and  become  a  young  woman, 
think  of  the  high  standard  you  will  have  to  live 
up  to." 

Kitty  tried  to  decide  the  knotty  problem  of 
whether  this  freedom  from  criticism  was  one  of  the 
chief  compensations  of  existence,  or  whether  it 
might  not  be  too  dearly  bought.  For  instance, 
she  had  taken  a  fancy  to  her  cousin,  Glen  Rennie, 
partly  because  he  was  a  resurrection  of  the  old 
Italian  days,  partly  on  account  of  his  good  looks, 
his  amusing  talk,  combined  with  his  apathetic, 
high-handed  manner  and  tone  to  her.  For  he 
seemed  to  consider  her  the  merest  child.  He  criti 
cised  her,  found  fault  with  her.  He  had  already 
told  her  more  than  once  that  it  seemed  strange 
a  fairly  good-looking  woman  like  the  marchesa 
should  have  such  an  ugly  daughter.  With  appall 
ing  frankness  he  had  remarked  that  she  was  thin 
as  a  rail ;  pointing  at  her  arm  he  had  once  ex 
claimed,  "  What  do  you  call  that  tiling,  anyhow  ?  " 
Then  her  complexion  he  declared  was  too  dark,  and 
when  she  was  sulky,  as  she  alas  too  often  was,  her 
eyebrows  fairly  beetled  ;  and  he  went  on  to  say 


42  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

that  although  that  swift  swallow-like  motion  might 
do  very  well  supposing  she  were  a  bird  and  lived 
up  in  the  air,  in  the  house  one  sighed  for  repose. 
Finally,  about  her  behavior,  her  odd  speeches,  her 
strange  questions,  —  he  inquired  sadly  whether  she 
had  ever  heard  of  the  man  who,  on  going  to  visit 
his  relations,  was  obliged  to  sit  down  and  weep 
because  they  had  no  manners. 

"  Have  I  no  manners,  cousin  Glen  ?  "  Kitty  had 
asked  imploringly,  fearful  lest  he  might  be  on  the 
point  of  shedding  tears. 

"  Not  one,"  he  had  answered  sadly.  "  Not  a 
single  one." 

No  wonder,  Kitty  said  to  herself,  that  she  bored 
her  cousin  Glen,  —  that  he  always  turned  to  the 
marchesa  with  an  air  of  relief  ;  for  her  mother  had 
such  beautiful  manners. 

There  were,  it  is  true,  certain  distinct  advantages 
about  having  no  manners.  If  Kitty  happened  to 
be  curious  about  a  person's  age,  she  could  put  the 
question  bluntly.  She  had  also  inquired  whether 
the  curly  crop  of  hair  which  surmounted  Mrs. 
Willoughby's  head  was  her  own  ;  if  not,  how  she 
fastened  it  on.  She  liked  to  understand  things, 
pluck  the  heart  out  of  the  mystery  ;  and  when  her 
mother  explained,  "  Oh,  my  little  girl  is  such  a 
barbarian,"  the  matter  seemed  not  to  signify.  The 
marchesa  had  desired  that  her  daughter  should  put 
all  her  heart,  soul,  and  strength  into  whatever  she 
undertook,  and  Kitty  had  not  yet  learned  where  to 
tread  lightly  and  where  to  bear  her  full  weight. 


KITTY  AND   THE  MAECHESA.  43 

She  was  expected  always  to  be  doing  something1, 
always  learning  something,  and  did  not  dis 
criminate  between  the  intricacies  of  the  English 
language  and  Mrs.  Willoughby's  hair.  Good  taste 
was  simply  the  result  of  sure  knowledge  and  quick 
perception.  Kitty  was  nevertheless  insensibly  be 
coming  influenced  by  conventions.  It  had  been 
delightful  to  her  to  take  her  violin  —  on  which  she 
could  play  well  enough  to  give  herself  raptures  of 
feeling  —  into  one  of  the  tulip-trees  and  discourse 
music  to  the  air.  One  afternoon,  as  she  clambered 
to  a  higher  branch,  coming  upon  a  nest  of  little 
beaks  wide  open  waiting  to  be  fed,  she  assumed  the 
r61e  of  mother-bird  and  searched  about  for  insects 
and  grubs  to  fill  them.  When  she  finally  de 
scended  from  the  leafy  covert,  dirty,  torn,  dishev 
eled,  she  had  emerged  directly  upon  Mrs.  Edward 
Darrow  and  her  son,  the  latter  elaborately  gotten  up 
in  a  silk  hat,  a  cutaway  coat,  and  a  pair  of  delicate 
gloves  which  he  had  put  on  to  pay  his  respects  to 
the  marchesa.  Alas,  when  he  condescended  to 
offer  his  beautiful  lavender  finger  to  her,  Kitty's 
little  brown  paw  left  dreadful  marks  on  the  im 
maculate  kid. 

The  mortification  of  that  moment  was  a  power 
ful  impulse  towards  conventional  behavior.  Kitty 
then  and  there  determined  that  just  as  soon  as  she 
should  have  climbed  every  tree  on  her  uncle's  place 
she  would  give  up  these  monkey-like  tricks. 

Her  acquaintance  with  Agatha  Darrow  pro 
gressed.  The  large,  ample  ways  of  the  Darrow 


44  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

menage  interested  her.  Kitty,  who  had  never  in 
her  life  had  more  than  a  corner  of  her  mother's 
quarters,  looked  in  wonder  at  the  independent  be 
longings  of  the  Darrow  girls.  Each  had  her  own 
charming  little  suite,  —  bed-room,  dressing-room, 
with  a  study,  sitting-room,  or  atelier,  as  she  might 
choose  to  term  it,  attached.  Gatty  called  hers  her 
studio.  Each  had  her  own  piano,  her  own  library, 
her  own  open  fireplace  and  easy-chair  ;  each  had 
her  own  tea-table  and  chafing-dish.  She  could 
shut  her  door  upon  intruders  and  grapple  with  the 
infinite  problem,  —  with  a  Welsh  rabbit  or  a  cup 
of  tea  to  sustain  her. 

Gatty's  grapple  had  not  so  far  been  remarkably 
impressive.  Kitty,  who  possessed  that  instinctive 
connoisseurship  which  belongs  to  many  Europeans, 
hardly  knew  what  to  say  when  she  saw  the  radiant 
and  extraordinary  work  of  the  young  artist.  There 
was  a  wonderful  "  Diana  and  Endymion  "  which 
had  been  laid  aside.  It  made  one  tremble  for  the 
sleeping  Endymion  to  see  so  many  pounds  weight 
avoirdupois  poised  above  him.  The  work  at  pre 
sent  on  the  easel  was  a  "  marine  :  "  the  turquoise 
blue  was  the  sea ;  the  orange  and  vermilion  the 
sands  and  rocks  ;  the  dash  of  scarlet  a  buoy  ;  while 
the  surpassing  flesh-tints  belonged  to  two  boys  who 
had  stripped  and  were  swimming  after  a  boat  that 
had  slipped  its  cable.  This  study  belonged  to 
the  new  school,  and  Kitty  really  knew  nothing 
about  the  new  school ;  accordingly  she  declared  it 
was  magnificent,  —  that  it  took  her  breath  away. 


KITTY  AND   THE  MAECHESA.  45 

"  Glen  came  up  to  see  it,"  Gatty  observed, 
surveying  her  work  from  an  acute  angle  of  vision, 
"  and  he  says  it  needs  '  cooking  together.' ' 

"  '  Cooking  together,'  "  Kitty  repeated  in  admi 
ration.  "  I  suppose  that  is  what  it  does  need." 

"  I  hoped  he  would  say  it  was  n't  half  bad," 
Gatty  added. 

"  Not  half  bad  would  not  be  very  high  praise." 

"  Oh  yes,  it  would  be  high  praise  from  Glen. 
He  knows  what  is  good.  He  does  not  spend  him 
self  in  cheap  praise." 

"  He  gives  me  no  cheap  praise.  I  am  sure  of 
that." 

"  He  admires  nothing  less  than  the  marchesa," 
Gatty  said,  with  a  little  nod. 

"  Oh  yes,  he  admires  mamma ;  he  listens  to 
her  ;  he  hears  nobody  else  when  she  speaks.  If  he 
wishes  to  say  anything  he  looks  to  secure  her  at 
tention,  and  begins,  '  Conny,  I  was  just  about  to 
remark.'  He  knows,  without  turning,  when  she 
comes  into  the  room.  He  always  rises  when  he 
hears  her  step  on  the  stairs." 

"  What  a  bore  it  must  be  to  have  such  an  adorer," 
said  Gatty. 

"  I  do  not  think  mamma  is  bored.  We  all  adore 
her." 

Gatty  laughed  lazily.  She  did  not  enlighten  the 
child  on  the  subject  of  Glen's  infatuation.  She 
went  back  instead  to  her  own  career  as  an  artist. 

"  I  must  do  something  fine,"  she  said.  "  If  I 
really  believed  that  I  had  no  genius  for  art  I  should 


46  THE  EEVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTEB. 

give  it  up  and  attempt  something  else.  Mamma 
says  that  we  must  not  narrow  ourselves  down  to 
one  choice  until  we  are  sure  that  it  is  our  specialty. 
For  a  time  we  should  test  and  develop  all  our 
capacities." 

"  It  must  be  very  interesting,"  said  Kitty  ad 
miringly. 

"What  do  you  mean  to  make  of  yourself, 
Kitty?" 

"I?  Me?  Make  of  myself?"  said  Kitty, 
changing  color.  "I  do  not  know." 

"  You  have  originality,  I  fancy,"  said  Gatty, 
knitting  her  brows  and  studying  the  young  girl. 
"  Whatever  you  do  seems  to  be  spontaneous,  — to 
come  out  of  yourself." 

"  It  does  not,"  Kitty  cried  triumphantly.  "  It 
is  all  mamma." 

"  Of  course  she  is  clever ;  she  is  very  clever. 
She  understands  you  ;  but  you  are  not  a  puppet. 
You  will  gather  up  your  forces  presently.  You 
will  find  out  your  own  powers.  Now,  where  I  fail 
is  in  originality.  I  am  tantalized  by  the  idea  that 
what  I  am  trying  to  do  has  been  done  over  and 
over  again.  Do  you  ever  feel  that  way  ?  " 

"  But  I  never  do  anything." 

"  You  play  the  violin  very  well,"  insisted  Gatty  ; 
"  that  is,  for  a  young  girl  who  has  never  had  any 
particular  instruction.  You  bring  out  the  tone  I 
love.  Then  your  drawings  are  striking — even 
those  figurines  you  moulded  are  fairly  good." 

"  Mamma  says  I  may  thank  heaven  I  have  no 


KITTY  AND   THE  MAECHESA.  47 

special  talent  in  any  direction,  —  that  I  shall  not 
be  laying  up  disappointments  for  myself.  But  she 
wants  me  to  learn  to  do  as  many  things  as  I  can, 
and  do  them  as  well  as  I  can,  for  there  is  always 
some  use  for  them,  and  1  shall  be  less  at  a  loss  for 
amusement." 

"  Oh,  amusement !  I  do  not  want  amusement. 
I  want  to  do  something  different  from  every-day 
women.  Don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  be  exactly  like  mamma." 

"  You  cannot  be  exactly  like  your  mother.  You 
are  yourself ;  just  as  you  have  your  own  heart,  lungs, 
nerve-centres,  so  you  have  your  own  intellect  and 
soul.  You  have  to  live  your  own  life,  find  your 
own  salvation.  I  am  always  thinking  of  some 
possible  great  thing  to  do.  If  I  had  real  genius  as 
a  painter  that  would  be  enough.  Only  I  want  to 
begin  with  a  great  achievement.  I  should  like  to 
startle  the  world." 

Kitty  looked  at  Agatha  in  frank  admiration. 

"  I  feel  so  anxious  not  to  miss  anything,"  Gatty 
proceeded  radiantly.  "  I  have  sometimes  thought 
I  could  be  an  actress,  —  but  poppa  would  n't  like  it. 
And  I  should  n't  like  the  making-Tip,  —  or  to  act 
in  the  sort  of  rubbish  they  call  plays  nowadays. 
Still,  an  actress  can  sway  her  generation  as  no  one 
else  can,  and  one  is  not  limited  to  one  little  feeble 
personality." 

Kitty  drew  a  deeper  breath.  "  Oh,  to  be  Juliet, 
Imogen,  Rosalind,  Portia !  "  she  murmured. 

"  Then,  again,  I  feel  as  if  I  should  like  to  go 


48  THE  EEVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

and  live  among  the  poor ;  give  up  luxury  alto 
gether  ;  eat  as  the  poorest  people  do,  dress  like 
them,  be  one  of  them ;  then  begin  along  with  them 
and  show  them  how  to  be  better,  cleaner." 

"  Yes,  that  is  it,"  said  Kitty,  with  conviction. 
"  Cleaner.  But  I  have  always  liked  the  peasants, 
—  I  love  them." 

"  Oh,  peasants  —  that  is  a  different  thing,"  said 
Gatty.  "  It  is  all  a  chimerical  dream,  I  fear. 
Poor  people  like  their  own  ways,  their  own  dirt, 
and  get  comfort  out  of  what  they  are  used  to,  just 
as  we  do.  Then,  too,  that  is  Sue's  line.  She  simply 
walks  into  poor  people's  houses  and  scrubs  them 
and  their  clothes,  and  their  beds  and  tables  and 
floors.  She  likes  nothing  better.  She  says  to 
make  some  little  part  of  God's  creation  cleaner  is 
enough  to  have  lived  for.  She  ought  to  be  adver 
tised  along  with  Pears'  soap.  I  confess  I  should 
prefer  something  a  little  more  ideal.  If  I  could  be 
carried  off  my  feet  by  some  great  distinguishing 
passion !  " 

Kitty  repeated  the  words  with  profound  awe,  — 

"  Some  great  distinguishing  passion." 

"  Something  that  lifts  one  above  the  soft  pillows 
one  sleeps  on,  the  table  one  eats  from.  I  want  a 
feeling  that  takes  possession  of  one's  heart  and 
soul,  fills  one's  mind  and  heart,  so  that  one  can 
think  of  nothing  else,  —  care  for  nothing  else.  It 
might  be  for  a  man  " 

"  A  man  ?  "  exclaimed  Kitty. 

"Not   necessarily  so.     Yet   I   should  never  be 


KITTY  AND   THE  MARCHESA.  49 

willing  to  marry  without  feeling  it,  should 
you?" 

"I  never  thought  about  it,"  Kitty  murmured 
laghast.  "  Do  you  mean  being  in  love  ?  " 

"  Of  course.  There  are  so  few  men  who  can 
really  inspire  a  great  passion.  Think  of  feeling  it 
tor  Teddy !  " 

"  Oh  no,  — oh  no,  that  could  n't  be." 

"  Or  for  cousin  John  Haliburton  !  " 

"Hardly." 

"  One  could  easily  enough  fall  in  love  with  Glen," 
[proceeded  Gatty,  with  a  little  soft  sigh,  "  but  it 
would  be  hardly  worth  one's  while." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  Kitty  inquired,  eager  for  illumi- 
lation. 

Gatty  laughed.  What  she  meant  was  that  he 
tvvas  already  in  love  with  somebody  else,  but  she 
said,  — 

"Oh,  Glen  is  too  poor, —  he  is  not  strong.  He 
ias  been  near  dying  more  than  once." 

Tears  rushed  to  Kitty's  eyes  and  brimmed  over. 

"  That  would  be  a  reason  for  loving  him,"  she 
"altered.  "  But  mamma  thinks  he  is  stronger  now. 
5he  and  uncle  Richard  were  saying  that  in  the 
Rennie  family  if  they  pass  the  age  of  thirty-five, 
;hey  sometimes  live  to  be  old,  quite  old." 

Gatty  hurried  away  from  the  subject  of  Glen, 
,vhich  seemed  to  torment  Kitty,  back  to  dreams  of 
i  life  of  endeavor,  of  duty,  of  sacrifice.  This  ease, 
;his  luxury,  this  sitting  in  comfortable  chairs,  mak- 
ng  tea  and  eating  sandwiches  and  bonbons,  was 


50  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

corrupting,  unsatisfactory,  nugatory ;  she  needed 
to  be  braced  by  the  tonic  of  some  great  and 
heroic  ideal.  The  largeness,  the  vividness  of  the 
thought  of  what  was  possible  in  the  nobler  world 
of  aspiration  and  idea  stirred  and  excited  Kitty.] 
She  had  to  go  home  through  the  woods  where  the 
singing  of  the  thrushes  thrilled  her,  and  made  her 
feel  a  part  of  the  happy  world,  and  when  she  burst 
in  upon  the  group  sitting  under  the  tulip-trees, 
they  all  paused  and  looked  at  her. 

"  Why,  Kitty,"  said  Constance,  "what  is  it?" 

"  Thee  has  brought  home  two  very  red  cheeks," 
said  Richard  Amory. 

"  And  two  very  bright  eyes,"  said  Glen  Rennie. 
"  Did  you  meet  Prince  Charming  in  the  wood?" 

It  was  almost  dinner-time,  and  Glen  and  Ilali- 
burton  were  just  about  to  take  leave.  Kichard 
Amory  walked  across  the  grounds  with  them,  and 
Constance  stretched  out  her  arms  to  Kitty. 

"  Where  were  you  ?  "  she  asked. 

"At  Gatty's ;  she  and  I  were  talking,"  said  thei 
young  girl.     She  knelt  beside  her  mother,  and  laid 
her  hands  in  her  lap. 

"What  were  you  talking  about  that  was  so  in 
teresting?  " 

"  Everything.       She   showed   me    her   pictures. i 
She  told  me  about  herself.     She    is  so  good,   so 
brave!     She  told  me  all  the  things  she  longed  to] 
do." 

"  What  does  she  long  to  do  ?  " 

"  Something  great  if  she  can." 


KITTY  AND   THE  MARCHESA.  51 

"  Oh  yes,  —  they  all  delight  in  the   large,  the 
nagnificent." 
"  And   she   asked    me  what  I  —  I  —  I  expected 

0  do  in  the  world,"  said  Kitty,  with   a   peal  of 
aughter. 

"What  did  you  answer?" 

"  At  first  I  said  I  did  not  know.  Then  I  told 
ier  I  wished  in  every  way  to  be  just  like  you, 
lamina  mia." 

"  You  dear  child  !     Did  that  satisfy  her  ?  " 

"  She  said  I  had  to  live  my  own  life.  What  do 
ou  think,  —  she  declares  that  I  am  clever." 

"  Clever  enough  to  understand,  —  to  be  a  help, 

comfort,  —  not  clever  enough  to  do  anything 
ery  wonderful.  What  else  ?  " 

"  Then  we  talked  about  having  some  great  dis- 
inguishing  passion." 

1  "  Some  great  distinguishing  passion.     For  what, 
ray?" 

"  Something  that  takes  one  off  one's  feet,  as  it 
;rere.  One  might  feel  it  for  a  man  if  he  were  very, 
tery  superior.  She  said  it  could  n't  be  for  Teddy 
)arrow,  for  example,  —  or  for  Mr.  Haliburton." 

"  It  is  just  as  well  to  discriminate  a  little.  Was 
here  anybody  who  did  come  up  to  your  fastidious 
equisitions?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  —  cousin  Glen." 
:  "Cousin  Glen!" 

"Only"- 

" Only  what?" 

"  Gatty  says  it  would  be  of  no  use  to  fall  in  love 


52  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

with  him,  because  he  is  poor  and  not  strong-.  I 
said  I  thought  that  was  the  very  reason  for  it." 

"  I  don't  quite  understand  what  a  distinguishing 
passion  is,"  said  Constance.  "  Does  it  distinguish 
one's  self  or  the  other  person  ?  " 

"  It  is  just  a  sort  of  phrase.  One  knows  what 
it  means." 

"  Or  thinks  one  knows,"  said  Constance,  laugh 
ing  with  irrepressible  amusement.  "  I  have  heard 
women  say  they  had  a  passion  for  strawberries  and 
cream.  Heine  says  somewhere  that  in  his  early 
days  his  passion  was  for  apple-tarts,  but  when  he 
grew  old,  his  passion  was  for  love,  liberty,  reli 
gion,  and  so  forth." 

Kitty  listened  with  her  head  on  one  side. 

"  We  finally  decided,"  she  now  explained,  "  that 
after  all  if  one  could  only  have  some  occasion  for 
sacrifice,  for  duty,  that  would  be  best.  She  wishes 
to  be  a  great  artist ;  failing  that,  to  live  among  the 
poor,  and  teach  them  how  to  appreciate  art." 

Constance  had  listened  patiently,  trying  to  sepa 
rate  the  single  grain  of  wheat  from  the  chaff. 

"  Gatty  is  sure  to  do  something  fine,"  she  notf 
said.  "  She  may  be  a  little  confused  and  bewil 
dered  about  what  is  best  to  do,  but  finally  her  ideas 
will  take  shape.  When  one  is  a  little  at  a  loss  as 
to  the  direction  in  which  one's  duty  lies,  the  best 
way  is  to  accept  the  task  which  lies  nearest." 

Kitty  nodded.     "  I  see." 

"  What  is  absolutely  real,  —  what  we  can  see, 
hear,  touch,  feel,  we  can  be  certain  about.  What 


KITTY  AND    THE  MARCHESA.  53 

s  vague,  shadowy,  problematical  may  as  well  be 
postponed  until  we  have  accomplished  what  is 
•ncler  our  hands." 

"  For  example,  I  had  better  go  and  change  my 
rock,  and  get  ready  for  dinner,"  said  Kitty.  Con- 
jfcance  laughed,  but  she  was  not  yet  through. 
1  "  And  you  remember  the  prayer  of  St.  Catherine 
jf  Siena,"  said  Constance.  "  It  is  loving  that  is 
lie  first  duty  of  all." 

"  That  is  the  easiest,"  Kitty  returned.  As  she 
^ent  upstairs,  she  was  repeating  St.  Catherine's 
grayer  to  herself,  —  praying  that  she  might  be 
jble  to  love  the  least  well  endowed  of  God's  crea- 
iures,  the  ugly,  even  the  repulsive,  in  order  that 
*n  the  light  of  that  love  she  might  discover  what 
Without  that  light  is  hidden,  —  the  sweet,  reason- 
jble  soul  of  which  each  child  of  God  contains  a 
Wticle. 

;  "  Still,"  Kitty  argued  to  herself,  "  that  is  char- 
by,  —  it  is  not  a  great  distinguishing  passion." 


56  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

marrying  ;  he  had  rarely  left  her.  Twelve  years 
before,  however,  when  Glendenning  llennic  had 

been  consul  at ,  John  had  gone  over  to  spend 

a  few  weeks  with  him.  He  there  met  Constance 
Bertini.  He  saw  her  only  a  few  times  for  she 
lived  in  great  seclusion.  For  him  to  have  said 
that  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  her  he  would  have 
considered  presumption,  almost  impertinence.  Be 
sides,  Glen  was  in  love  with  her,  —  was  on  the 
point  of  offering  himself  to  her.  Nevertheless, 
Haliburton's  mind,  heart,  soul,  and  physical  sense 
had  ever  since  been  dominated  by  the  thought  of 
this  one  woman.  In  remembering  her  all  these 
years  he  had  experienced  a  certain  pang,  but  a 
pang  he  would  not  have  missed,  —  for  the  pain  of 
loving  her  was  better  than  any  other  happiness 
he  possessed.  His  feeling  was  very  much  as  if  she 
had  been  married  to  another  man.  Glen  not  only 
was  in  love,  but,  with  the  unhesitating  audai'ity 
which  was  the  attribute  above  all  others  that  John 
did  not  possess,  had  appropriated  to  himself  the 
perennial  position  of  Constance's  adorer.  AVhen 
he  heard  the  news  that  Richard  Amory  had  asked 
the  marchesa  and  her  daughter  to  come  and  live 
at  Waldstein,  Haliburton  at  once  felt  that  he  must 
give  Glen  every  possible  chance  in  his  love  affair. 
For  twelve  years  Glen  had  talked  about  Constance. 
She  had  been  the  inspiration  of  his  poems ;  the 
idea  of  her  had  been  the  touchstone  of  his  taste, 
of  his  laboriously  indolent  efforts  to  achieve  some 
thing  better  than  every-day  commonplace  work. 


LOVE   UNFULFILLED.  57 

Glen  had  a  position  on  an  evening  paper,  and 
!  was  also  engaged  in  the  rehanging  of  a  private 
!  art  gallery. 

He  must  be  in  town  or  not  far  away  all  summer. 
1  So  Haliburton  had  said,  "  Suppose  you  and  I  go 
i  out  and  keep  house  in  the  old  place  ?  " 

The  thing  was  settled  in  a  moment.     For  other 
people  and  their   interests  Haliburton   had   swift 
1  insight  and  instant  decision. 

"  What  bliss  for  me  to  have  Conny  and  for  you 
1  to  have  Sue  !  "  Glen  had  said,  with  mischief.     In 
1  all  the  world  there  was  nothing  and  no  one  Hali- 
i  burton  dreaded  as  he  dreaded  Miss  Darrow.     Yet 
i  he  had  not  swerved  from  this  resolution.     He  had 
sent  at  once  for  two  of  his  mother's  old  servants  ; 
he  had  set  up  his  bachelor  establishment.     He  and 
1  Glen  were  near  neighbors  to  Waldstein,  and  that 
i  they  were  still   nearer   neighbors   to  the  Ambury 
•  Darrows   must   be   borne.     No    day  passed  with- 
1  out  meetings  with  Richard  Amory,  his  sister  and 
1  niece.     Their  talks  were  endless.     Glen  was  radi- 
1  ant,    Constance   apparently  undisturbed  in    heart 
1  and  mind.     The   two  would  talk  an  entire  after- 
1  noon  or  evening  about  people,-  scenery,  pictures,  or 
books  ;  the  others  sitting  by  and  throwing  in  an 
occasional  word.     Glen  could  be  the  most  agree- 
1  able  of  talkers,  and  Constance  led  him  on,  humor- 
:  ing  him  with  suggestions.     He  had  lived  in  many 
places,  had  known  many  people,  and  a  question  or 
hint  from  her  would  open  up  a  chapter  of  reminis 
cences,  and  bring  forth  a  whole  gallery  of  portraits, 


58  THE  EEVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

about  each  of  which  there  would  be  some  charac 
teristic  anecdote. 

In  all  his  life  Haliburton  had  never  so  fully 
realized  the  possible  charm  of  existence,  but  every 
day  he  began  to  feel  more  and  more  the  torment 
of  the  situation. 

For  a  few  weeks  the  pressure  of  expectation  was 
tolerable.  He  wanted  Glen  to  be  happy.  He 
nerved  himself  to  see  Glen  made  happy.  Then 
the  suspense  began  to  try  him.  The  irksomeness 
of  a  doubt  insinuated  itself.  He  began  to  believe 
not  only  that  Glen  had  no  chance,  but  that  it  was 
wrong  to  encourage  a  state  of  affairs  which  was 
hopeless.  Constance  was  not  in  love  with  Glen. 
Her  friendship  for  him,  although  it  was  tinged 
with  a  thousand  pretty,  changeable  lights  of  sym 
pathy,  could  never  become  love. 

It  was  Haliburton's  nature,  when  anything 
touched  his  own  feelings,  to  suspect  himself,  to 
doubt  the  truth  of  his  own  impressions,  to  be  con 
scious  of  possibilities  beyond  his  own  insight  and 
divination.  Thus  he  hardly  dared  impose  upon 
Glen  his  belief  that  his  suit  was  hopeless. 

The  fact  was  that  lovers  did  not  seem  to  be  in 
Constance's  mind  at  all ;  not  a  necessity  of  life 
to  her  certainly,  not  even  a  distinction  she  courted. 
It  actually  seemed  sometimes  to  Haliburton  that 
she  was  as  glad  to  see  him  as  to  see  Glen.  She 
listened  when  Glen  poured  out  floods  of  talk  about 
John,  —  fairly  hugging  himself  with  delight  when 
he  could  make  her  laugh. 


LOVE  UNFULFILLED.  59 

"  Now  you  would  n't  call  John  a  man  of  the 
world,  would  you,  cousin  Conny?"  Glen  said  once. 

"  I  have  never  quite  understood  what  a  man  of 
the  world  is." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  a  man  of  the  world,"  said  Glen.  "  I 
mean  the  sort  of  fellow  who  gets  on,  has  the  best 
places,  eats  a  good  dinner  that  another  man  pays 
^for.  Put  him  in  a  room  full  of  strangers,  and  in  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  he  is  not  only  perfectly  at  home, 
but  the  head  of  the  company." 

"  No,"  said  Haliburton,  "  the  marchesa  knows 
very  well  that  I  am  not  that  sort  of  individual  at 
WL" 

"  That  is  what  I  was  saying,"  Glen  proceeded. 
"  I  see  the  lack  of  it  in  John.  I  try  to  do  my 
best.  Now  as  for  myself,  man  of  the  world  al 
though  I  may  be,  I  take  a  back  seat,  —  not  through 
modesty,  but  a  fellow  has  his  reasons.  If  I  have 
to  go  on  a  journey  by  myself,  I  do  it  inexpensively. 
Why  not  be  a  little  Bohemian  ?  I  wear  my  old 
clothes,  —  surely  it 's  no  great  sin  to  be  out  at  el 
bows,  —  a  slouched  hat.  No  porter  expects  to  get 
fees  out  of  me.  Suppose  I  grow  hungry,  I  bolt  a 
hasty  sandwich,  a  thing  inexpensive  in  itself,  which 
also  possesses  the  merit  of  lying  like  a  lump  of 
lead  on  my  chest  for  the  next  twenty-four  hours, 
giving  me  a  distaste  for  other  food.  I  snatch 
perhaps  a  frugal  glass  of  beer.  Thus  I  shirk  the 
obligations,  the  distinctions  which  cost  money. 
But  when  I  ask  John  to  go  anywhere,  our  light 
shines  before  men.  '  Take  a  pocketful  of  money, 


60  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

John,'  I  say  ;  '  we  must  do  the  thing  handsomely. 
The  world  accepts  us  at  our  own  valuation.'  We 
engage  seats,  berths,  bedrooms  in  advance.  We 
telegraph,  we  telephone,  we  are  men  who  insist 
upon  having  the  best,  can  pay  for  it,  and  everybody 
bows  down  before  us.  No  hasty  meals,  no  vulgar 
makeshifts.  No,  we  avoid  indigestion,  nervous- 
ness,  sleepless  nights,  by  sitting  down  comfortably 
to  wholesome  courses.  '  Give  me  all  your  spare 
cash,  John,'  I  say  ;  '  we  must  be  liberal ! '  We  go 
to  theatres,  operas,  —  the  best  seats  of  course.  The 
house  stares  at  us  in  admiration.  Oh,  there  is  no 
end  to  the  pains  I  've  taken  with  John." 

He  described  Haliburton  as  a  youth :  his  solemn 
airs,  the  dramatic  effect  of  his  first  suit  of  dress-  • 
clothes,  his  first  chimney-pot  hat. 

"  I  always  believed  in  John  powerfully,"   Glen 
went  on.     "  Did  I  ever  tell  you,  Conny,  how  once  > 
when  my  mother  was  crossing  the  street  on  a  muddy 
day,  taking  her  own  time,  as  her  way  was,  she  was 
about  to  be  run  over  by  an  aristocratic  equipage, 
when  John  seized  the  horses  by  their  bridles,  and 
at  the  risk  of  his  life,  while  the  animals  plunged 
and  reared,   backed  them   against  the   curbstone, j 
frightening  the  occupants  of  the  carriage   almost 
out  of  their  senses.     '  Were  you  going  to  run  over' 
my  sister  ?  '  he  thundered  at  the  man  on  the  box, 
who  was  white  with  fear.     '  Is  it  not  safe  for  a  lady 
to  cross  Fifth  Avenue  in  sight  of  her  own  house  ? ' : 
That 's  John,"  Glen  proceeded.     "  Not  quite  what 
you  would  call  a  man  of  the  world.     He   rarely 


LOVE   UNFULFILLED.  61 

talks,  but  once  or  twice  in  his  life  lie  has  done  that 
j'sort  of  thing,  and  one  takes  it  for  granted  there  's  a 
depth  of  power  and  meaning  in  him  somewhere." 

Glen  went  on  illustrating  Haliburton,  telling 
stories  of  the  old  days  when  he  used  to  wheedle 
quarters  out  of  John  for  treats  at  the  confection- 
jer's,  when  John  taught  him  to  skate,  initiated  him 
into  tobogganing,  gave  him  his  first  real  start  in 
the  Greek  alphabet  and  in  geometry. 

"  I  have  stuck  by  John  all  through  his  career," 
i  Grlen  said  sadly.  "  I  can't  desert  him  now  that  he 
BJ£  in  love." 

"Mr.    Haliburton   in    love?"    said    Constance. 

She  turned  to  him  in  frank   surprise.     The   two 

nen  had  been  dining  at  Waldstein,  and  they  were 

ill  sitting  on  the  veranda.     It  was  long  past  sunset, 

>ut  in  the  northwest  there  was  still  a  glow  which 

nade  the  whole  air  luminous.    As  Constance's  eyes 

:|  net  his,  Haliburton  experienced  a  powerful  shock 

:  )i  feeling.     Perhaps  the  color  which  came  on  both 

aces  was  a  reflection,  but  Haliburton  puzzled  over 

he  look  he  saw  in  hers  for  many  a  day  to  come. 

"  In  love  ?  "   repeated  Glen,  full  of  whim  and 
lischief .     "  Head  over  ears." 

!"  And  she  ?  "  said  Constance  no  longer  in  eager 
urprise,  but  with  the  usual  equipoise  of  mind  and 
lanner  which  characterized  her. 
"  John  knows,"  Glen  whispered. 
Haliburton  was  modest ;  he  postponed  his  own 
,'ishes ;  he  would  not  have  robbed  Glen  of   any 
liance  ;  but  he  did  not  forget  the  look  with  which 


62  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

Constance  had  turned  to  him.  It  ran  the  keenest 
meaning  into  him,  cut  him  to  the  quick.  All  his 
conscience  was  on  edge.  Yet  —  yet  —  He  some 
times  in  these  days  stamped  his  foot  in  his  per 
plexity.  To  touch  the  subject  in  cold  blood,  to 
say  to  Glen,  "  Tell  me  what  chance  you  have  with 
her,"  was  impossible.  Glen's  cause  was  sacred  to 
him ;  he  was  ready  to  give  him  money  to  speed 
him  in  it,  —  if  money  were  the  only  thing  he 
lacked.  But  Haliburton  could  not  feel  it  his  duty 
to  inspire  the  lover  with  ardor. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

LIVE    PEOPLE    AND    GHOSTS. 

ONE  evening  in  June,  Richard  Amory,  his  sister 
and  niece  dined  with  Haliburton. 

"  This  is  merely  a  sort  of  dress  rehearsal  to  dis 
cover  whether  we  really  could  give  a  dinner  credit 
ably,"  Glen  explained  when  he  and  Haliburton 
went  over  to  proffer  the  invitation.  "  Before  John 
really  launches  out  and  invites  Sue,  he  wants  to  get 
hold  of  a  kink  or  two." 

"  Ought  we  to  have  a  sixth  to  balance  the  table, 
and  to  entertain  Kitty  ?  that  is  the  real  question," 
said  Haliburton. 

"  No,"  Glen  answered.  "  If  we  ask  anybody  else 
we  should  have  to  ask  the  Darrows,  and  John 
would  be  absent-minded,  and  the  thing  wouldn't 
go  off  well." 

"Oh,  please  ask  nobody  but  ourselves.  Kitty 
does  not  want  to  be  entertained,"  said  the  mar- 
chesa. 

"  I  should  think  not,"  murmured  Kitty. 

"  And  then,"  Glen  went  on  lashing  himself  into 
despair,  "  those  clever  women  know  so  much  — 
they  spoil  conversation.  I  never  can  get  a  word 
in  edgewise.  They  want  to  keep  all  the  talk  to 
themselves." 


64  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

"You  prefer  ignoramuses  like  Kitty  and  me, 
who  look  up  to  you,"  suggested  Constance. 

"  I  do,  indeed." 

"  The  thing  is,"  said  Haliburton,  "  we  are  not 
used  to  giving  dinners.  We  want  to  learn  how  it 
is  done." 

"  What  is  thee  going  to  have  ?  "  inquired  Rich 
ard  Amory.  "  Now  when  I  go  out,  I  myself  like 
a  good  dinner." 

"  We  were  discussing  the  menu,"  said  Glen. 
"  It 's  not  the  time  of  year  for  raw  oysters." 

"  Clearly  not." 

"  We  have  also  decided  not  to  have  soup.  It 's 
too  hot  weather  for  soup  ;  besides,  the  marchesa 
has  such  beautiful  soup,  we  felt  as  if  "  — 

"  It  is  too  hot  weather  for  soup." 

"  Then,  too,  fresh  fish  is  hard  to  get.  It  seemed 
as  well  to  drop  fish." 

"  I  asked  thee  what  thee  was  going  to  have. 
We  can  go  without  things  at  home." 

"  We  almost  made  up  our  minds  to  have  lob 
ster." 

"  Thee  asks  a  man  of  my  age  out  to  eat  lobster !  " 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  ?  "  demanded  Glen,  i 
"  We  are  ready  to  go  to  almost  any  expense  in 
order  to  entertain  our  friends." 

The  dinner,  nevertheless,  turned  out  to  be  good 
and  plentiful.  Haliburton  and  Glen  sat  opposite 
each  other  in  the  middle,  and  Constance  and  her 
brother  had  the  ends  of  the  table.  Kitty,  being 
a  fifth  wheel,  changed  her  place  between  each 


LIVE  PEOPLE  AND   GHOSTS.  65 

course,  in  order  to  decide  which  corner  she  pre 
ferred.  It  was  all  so  unceremonious  it  would 
hardly  have  been  worth  while  for  her  to  be  upon 
her  good  behavior. 

Haliburton  had  seated  Constance  in  the  place 
where  he  had  seen  his  mother  so  many  years.  The 
talk  at  dinner  turned  chiefly  upon  the  house,  and 
ithe  Amburys,  its  former  owners.  Mrs.  Ambury, 
Haliburton's  grandmother,  had  died  two  weeks 
after  Constance's  first  marriage,  and  a  few  months 
later  he  and  his  mother  had  come  here  from  New 
York  to  live.  This  inheritance  had  decided  the 
question  of  his  career,  —  had  made  him  Ambury 
Darrow's  partner.  They  spoke  of  how  our  lives 
get  made  up  independently  of  our  tastes,  inclina 
tions,  and  determinations.  Haliburton  would 
greatly  have  preferred  to  live  on  in  New  York,  but 
his  mother  said  she  had  always  been  homesick  for 
the  dear  old  place.  He  disliked  a  suburb,  consid 
ering  that  life  is  not  long  enough  for  such  a  dissi 
pation  of  energy  ;  if  a  man  has  anything  to  do  in 
the  world,  he  must  concentrate  his  powers.  Yet 
lie  had  lived  here  for  almost  nineteen  years,  until 
after  his  mother's  death,  not  quite  three  years  be 
fore  the  time  of  our  story.  Glen  for  once  said 
little  or  nothing,  and  was  content  to  listen.  He 
experienced  the  pleasantness  of  having  women  in 
the  room  where  he  and  John  usually  ate  and  drank 
•and  talked  and  smoked  or  kept  silent  prosaically. 
Constance  wore  something  thin  and  airy  in  black ; 
her  little  white  lace  fichu  was  open  at  the  throat,  and 


64  TEE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

"You  prefer  ignoramuses  like  Kitty  and  me, 
who  look  up  to  you,"  suggested  Constance. 

"  I  do,  indeed." 

"  The  thing  is,"  said  Haliburton,  "  we  are  nol 
used  to  giving  dinners.  We  want  to  learn  how  il 
is  done." 

"  What  is  thee  going  to  have  ?"  inquired  Rich 
ard  Amory.  "  Now  when  I  go  out,  I  myself  like 
a  good  dinner." 

"  We  were  discussing  the  menu,"  said  Glen 
"  It 's  not  the  time  of  year  for  raw  oysters." 

"  Clearly  not." 

"  We  have  also  decided  not  to  have  soup.     It ' 
too  hot  weather  for  soup  ;   besides,  the  marchesa 
has  such  beautiful  soup,  we  felt  as  if  "  — 

"It  is  too  hot  weather  for  soup." 

"  Then,  too,  fresh  fish  is  hard  to  get.  It  seemed 
as  well  to  drop  fish." 

"  I  asked  thee  what  thee  was  going  to  have. 
We  can  go  without  things  at  home." 

"  We  almost  made  up  our  minds  to  have  lob 
ster." 

"  Thee  asks  a  man  of  my  age  out  to  eat  lobster !  " 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  ?  "  demanded  Glen. 
"  We  are  ready  to  go  to  almost  any  expense  in 
order  to  entertain  our  friends." 

The  dinner,  nevertheless,  turned  out  to  be  good 
and  plentiful.  Haliburton  and  Glen  sat  opposite 
each  other  in  the  middle,  and  Constance  and  her 
brother  had  the  ends  of  the  table.  Kitty,  being 
a  fifth  wheel,  changed  her  place  between  each 


LIVE  PEOPLE  AND   GHOSTS.  65 

Bourse,  in  order  to  decide  which  corner  she  pre 
ferred.  It  was  all  so  unceremonious  it  would 
hardly  have  been  worth  while  for  her  to  be  upon 
her  good  behavior. 

Haliburton  had  seated  Constance  in  the  place 
where  he  had  seen  his  mother  so  many  years.  The 
talk  at  dinner  turned  chiefly  upon  the  house,  and 
the  Amburys,  its  former  owners.  Mrs.  Ambury, 
Haliburton's  grandmother,  had  died  two  weeks 
after  Constance's  first  marriage,  and  a  few  months 
later  he  and  his  mother  had  come  here  from  New 
York  to  live.  This  inheritance  had  decided  the 
question  of  his  career,  —  had  made  him  Ambury 
Darrow's  partner.  They  spoke  of  how  our  lives 
get  made  up  independently  of  our  tastes,  inclina 
tions,  and  determinations.  Haliburton  would 
greatly  have  preferred  to  live  on  in  New  York,  but 
his  mother  said  she  had  always  been  homesick  for 
the  dear  old  place.  He  disliked  a  suburb,  consid 
ering  that  life  is  not  long  enough  for  such  a  dissi 
pation  of  energy  ;  if  a  man  has  anything  to  do  in 
the  world,  he  must  concentrate  his  powers.  Yet 
he  had  lived  here  for  almost  nineteen  years,  until 
after  his  mother's  death,  not  quite  three  years  be 
fore  the  time  of  our  story.  Glen  for  once  said 
little  or  nothing,  and  was  content  to  listen.  He 
experienced  the  pleasantness  of  having  women  in 
the  room  where  he  and  John  usually  ate  and  drank 
and  talked  and  smoked  or  kept  silent  prosaically. 
Constance  wore  something  thin  and  airy  in  black ; 
her  little  white  lace  fichu  was  open  at  the  throat,  and 


64  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

"You  prefer  ignoramuses  like  Kitty  and  me, 
who  look  up  to  you,"  suggested  Constance. 

"  I  do,  indeed." 

"  The  thing  is,"  said  Haliburton,  "  we  are  not 
used  to  giving  dinners.  We  want  to  learn  how  it 
is  done." 

"  What  is  thee  going  to  have  ?"  inquired  Rich 
ard  Ainory.  "  Now  when  I  go  out,  I  myself  like 
a  good  dinner." 

"  We  were  discussing  the  menu,"  said  Glen. 
"  It 's  not  the  time  of  year  for  raw  oysters." 

"  Clearly  not." 

"  We  have  also  decided  not  to  have  soup.  It 's 
too  hot  weather  for  soup  ;  besides,  the  marchesa 
has  such  beautiful  soup,  we  felt  as  if  "  — 

"  It  is  too  hot  weather  for  soup." 

"  Then,  too,  fresh  fish  is  hard  to  get.  It  seeme( 
as  well  to  drop  fish." 

"  I  asked  thee  what  thee  was  going  to  have 
We  can  go  without  things  at  home." 

"  We  almost  made  up  our  minds  to  have  lob 
ster." 

"  Thee  asks  a  man  of  my  age  out  to  eat  lobster !  " 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  ?  "  demanded  Glen. 
"  We  are  ready  to  go  to  almost  any  expense  in 
order  to  entertain  our  friends." 

The  dinner,  nevertheless,  turned  out  to  be  good 
and  plentiful.  Haliburton  and  Glen  sat  opposite 
each  other  in  the  middle,  and  Constance  and  her 
brother  had  the  ends  of  the  table.  Kitty,  being 
a  fifth  wheel,  changed  her  place  between  each 


LIVE  PEOPLE  AND   GHOSTS.  65 

Bourse,  in  order  to  decide  which  corner  she  pre 
ferred.  It  was  all  so  unceremonious  it  would 
hardly  have  been  worth  while  for  her  to  be  upon 
frer  good  behavior. 

Haliburton  had  seated  Constance  in  the  place 
where  he  had  seen  his  mother  so  many  years.  The 
talk  at  dinner  turned  chiefly  upon  the  house,  and 
the  Amburys,  its  former  owners.  Mrs.  Ambury, 
Haliburton's  grandmother,  had  died  two  weeks 
after  Constance's  first  marriage,  and  a  few  months 
later  he  and  his  mother  had  come  here  from  New 
5Tork  to  live.  This  inheritance  had  decided  the 
question  of  his  career,  —  had  made  him  Ambury 
Darrow's  partner.  They  spoke  of  how  our  lives 
^et  made  up  independently  of  our  tastes,  inclina 
tions,  and  determinations.  Haliburton  would 
greatly  have  preferred  to  live  on  in  New  York,  but 
his  mother  said  she  had  always  been  homesick  for 
the  dear  old  place.  Pie  disliked  a  suburb,  consid 
ering  that  life  is  not  long  enough  for  such  a  dissi 
pation  of  energy  ;  if  a  man  has  anything  to  do  in 
the  world,  he  must  concentrate  his  powers.  Yet 
he  had  lived  here  for  almost  nineteen  years,  until 
after  his  mother's  death,  not  quite  three  years  be 
fore  the  time  of  our  story.  Glen  for  once  said 
little  or  nothing,  and  was  content  to  listen.  He 
experienced  the  pleasantness  of  having  women  in 
the  room  where  he  and  John  usually  ate  and  drank 
and  talked  and  smoked  or  kept  silent  prosaically. 
Constance  wore  something  thin  and  airy  in  black ; 
her  little  white  lace  fichu  was  open  at  the  throat,  and 


66  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

she  seemed  to  him  wonderfully  beautiful.  Kitty 
was  in  white,  clear  and  diaphanous,  and  the  setting 
sun,  as  it  threw  wonderful  shafts  of  light  and  lu 
minous  reflections  into  the  room,  —  making  prisms 
in  the  crystal,  and  burnishing  up  the  mahogany . 
wherever  it  could  find  a  surface,  —  lighted  fires  as  » 
well  in  the  young  girl's  eyes,  and  gave  her  lips  and 
the  spot  of  red  on  each  cheek  the  richness  of  a 
crimson  flower.  When  the  dusk  began  to  gather, 
Dilsey,  the  old  mulatto  butler,  brought  lighted  can 
dles  in  great  silver  candlesticks,  thrice  coming  in 
with  one  in  each  hand.  It  was  like  a  religious 
function. 

"  John  is  fond  of  his  six  candlesticks,"  said  Glen. 

Richard  Amory  knew  all  about  the  six  silver  i| 
candlesticks,  —  when,  where,  and  how  they   were  ;! 
made  out  of  an  antique  dinner-service  which  had 
been    in   the   Ambury  family  when  it   emigrated. 
The  endless  chain  of  reminiscence  went  on  as  be 
fore,  leaving  Glen  free  to  look  and  gaze  and  com 
pare  and  remember.     It  is  not  safe  always  to  renew 
even  a  friendship  ;  it  is  sometimes  impossible  to 
find  virtue  in  the  passion  which  has  swayed  our 
lives  when  we  try  to  take  it  up  again.     But  Con 
stance,  to  Glen's  perceptions,  had  lost  nothing  in 
the  long  interval.     She  was  not  one  of  the  women 
who  make  any  attempt  to  attract,  to  charm.     No.  in  > 
her  blithe,  steady  poise  there  was  an  element  of  i 
serenity,  of  strength,  of  duration.    How  confidently 
and  serenely  she  took  life ! 

He  turned  occasionally  from  Constance  to  steep ' 


LIVE  PEOPLE  AND   GHOSTS.  67 

himself  in  Kitty's  vivid  glow  and  color.  Still,  he 
said  to  himself  that  what  he  loved  was  Constance's 
pure,  white  light.  He  was  proud  of  the  very  lim 
itations  of  his  feeling  for  her.  She  did  not  chafe, 
perplex,  over-stimulate  him  ;  instead,  she  soothed 
his  restlessness.  Whether  or  not  he  had  been  ab 
solutely  true  to  his  ideal  of  love  all  these  twelve 
years,  it  had  been  constantly  renewed  in  its  nai've 
adoring  recognition  of  her  superiority  to  any  other 
woman  he  had  ever  known.  Now,  seeing  mother 
and  daughter  together,  it  suited  his  mood  to  study 
their  likeness  and  unlikeness.  Delicate  little  rip 
ples  of  suggestion  brought  up  the  picture  of  Con 
stance  as  a  young  girl.  Kitty  was  eating  cream 
ices  and  strawberries,  accepting  one  plate  after 
another,  and  Glen  found,  along  with  his  amuse 
ment  at  her  childish  gluttony,  an  extreme  charm 
in  her  absence  of  vanity  or  striving  for  effect. 

"  May  I  have  another,  mamma  mia  ?  "  she  would 
ask  when  Dilsey  offered  them,  as  if  she  were  six 
years  old. 

"  If  there  are  enough,"  Constance  would  reply. 

1 "  One  is  so  hungry  when  one  is  young." 

This  easy  acquiescence,  this  habitual  acceptance 

i  of  the  prose  and  logic  of  life,  was  characteristic 
of  Constance.  But  had  she  ever  felt  that  youthful 
hunger  and  thirst  ?  Or,  feeling  it,  had  she  had  a 
perception  of  a  hunger  unsatisfied ;  a  thirst  un- 

i  quenched  and  unquenchable  ?  Had  she  ever  loved 
any  man  ?  Could  she  ever  love  any  man  ?  Was 
not  her  passion  for  Kitty  the  first,  the  only  passion 


68  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

of  her  life  ?  Again  Glen  looked  at  Constance  with 
this  surmise  in  his  mind ;  at  the  pure,  faultless  oval 
of  the  proud,  perfectly  cut  face  ;  the  soft  tints,  not 
pale,  but  luminous  like  the  hues  of  a  pearl ;  the 
sweet  look  of  the  tranquil  eyes ;  the  charm  of  the 
lips.  He  could  not  help  loving  her  ;  he  blessed  fate 
that  he  had  had  the  chance  of  loving  her ;  yet  he 
knew  —  he  suddenly  felt,  with  a  sharp,  importunate 
quickening  of  understanding,  that  he  had  always 
known  if  he  asked  her  for  bread  she  would  give 
him  a  stone.  Was  it  because  he  came  too  late,  — 
because,  if  a  man  wants  something  of  his  own,  lie 
must  begin  with  the  first  dawn  of  feeling  ?  lie 
looked  again  at  Kitty  eating  the  last  half  dozen 
strawberries  on  her  plate,  huge  in  size,  which  she 
had  saved  as  a  bonne  bouche.  Greedy  little  girl, 
luckily  far  removed  from  any  of  the  problems  of 
existence.  But  she  was  distinctly  pretty  to-night ; 
the  white  frock  with  its  open  throat  gave  her  head 
a  new  flower-like  lilt. 

They  went  into  the  garden  pavilion  to  take  their 
coffee.  Outside  the  house  it  was  still  as  bright  as 
day.  The  roses  and  honeysuckle,  clambering  every 
where,  seemed  to  have  drunk  in  the  fire  of  the  sun. 
The  stone  pavilion  was  very  old  with  fluted  pillars, 
and  in  the  centre  was  an  hour-glass  on  a  pedestal. 
On  one  side  was  a  fountain  which  had  not  run  for 
years,  but  which  Glen  had  cleaned  out  and  set 
playing  again.  On  the  other  side  was  the  elabo 
rate  old-fashioned  garden,  with  a  mound  in  the  cen 
tre  from  which  diverged  a  maze  of  walks  between 


LIVE  PEOPLE  AND   GHOSTS.  69 

beds  of  mignonette,  pinks,  heliotrope,  and  other 
sweet  flowers. 

Constance  sat  down  in  an  armchair,  and  arranged 
the  cups  and  saucers  which  were  laid  out  on  the  little 
table.  The  others  stood  about,  looking  up  at  the 
rich  light  on  the  old-fashioned  gables  and  oriels  of 
the  house,  all  framed  in  a  sparrow-haunted  foliage 
of  vines  and  creepers.  Richard  Amory  asked  some 
questions  about  the  date  of  the  main  building,  and 
he  and  John  Haliburton,  followed  by  Kitty,  walked 
off  to  look  at  it  over  the  door. 

Glen  had  turned  the  hour-glass,  and  Constance 
was  watching  the  sands  run  down. 

"I  don't  quite  like  an  hour-glass,"  she  said  pre 
sently  ;  "  it  is  too  much  like  one's  life." 

"  Not  yours." 

His  tone  made  her  look  up  at  him.  The  fire  and 
beauty  of  his  face  amazed  her.  It  was  the  effect 
partly  of  the  trick  of  light. 

"  Why,  Glen !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  you  look  ex 
actly  as  you  used  to  look  when  you  were  in  Italy 
that  summer." 

"  I  have  wondered  sometimes  if  you  ever  thought 
of  me  nowadays  as  I  was  in  Italy  that  summer," 
he  answered,  coming  a  step  nearer. 

"  I  never  forget  anything." 

"  Nor  I  where  you  are  concerned.  Is  it  worth 
while  telling  you  over  again  what  I  told  you  then  ? 
Do  you  remember  that  night  on  the  shore  just  after 
sunset?" 

"  Yes,  dear  Glen,  I  remember."  She  smiled 
serenely. 


70  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

"  May  I  tell  you  now  what  I  told  you  then  ?  " 

"  No ;  what  would  be  the  use  ?  We  were  both 
young  then,  — you  very  much  younger  than  I.  I 
told  you  then  that  it  was  all  folly,  that  I  should 
never  marry  again,  and  if  I  said  so  at  the  age  of 
twenty-eight,  what  should  I  say  now  ?  " 

In  her  decision,  in  her  easy  air  of  superior  know 
ledge,  she  showed  an  equanimity  which  amused, 
while  it  crushed  him.  They  looked  at  each  other 
for  a  moment,  in  silence. 

"  Oh,  you  are  happy,"  he  then  said.  "  You  have 
Kitty." 

"Why  have  you  not  made  some  happiness  for 
yourself?"  she  asked.  "I  have  so  hoped  to  hear 
that  you  were  married  to  some  pretty  girl  who 
would  have  loved  you  as  you  deserve,  — •  some  rich 
girl  who  could  have  helped  you  on." 

He  stretched  out  his  arms  with  a  gesture  as  if  > 
cramped  and  longing  to  get  free,  retreated  a  few 
steps,  and  sank  down  on  the  bench,  still  looking  at 
Constance  with  a  silent  stare,  then  burst  into  a  fit 
of  laughter.  She  met  his  gaze,  her  eyes  widening 
with  expectation  and  interest,  as  if  she  believed  he 
had  something  amusing  to  impart  to  her.  But 
at  this  moment  Haliburton  and  Richard  Amory 
came  down  the  path,  the  latter  telling  a  long  story 
about  a  vision  which  had  appeared  to  the  late  Mrs. 
Ambury.  She  was  only  two-and-forty  when  it 
happened,  and  she  lived  to  be  eighty-one,  yet  she 
had  carried  to  her  grave  an  intense  conviction  of 
its  reality. 


LIVE  PEOPLE  AND   GHOSTS.  71 

Kitty  was  profoundly  impressed  by  the  story. 

"  Do  you  understand,  mamma  ?  "  she  said.  "  Mrs. 
Imbury's  son  Tom,  Mr.  Haliburton's  uncle,  was 
sighteen  years  old.  They  were  afraid  he  was  in 
langer  of  going  into  a  decline,  and  he  was  sent  to 
he  West  Indies,  —  to  Jamaica.  The  night  he  died 
le  appeared  to  his  mother  as  she  sat  here  —  just 
lere  where  you  are  now." 

As  Haliburton  approached  the  pavilion  he  had 
aught  the  look  of  excessive  discomfiture  with 
rhich  Glen  turned  away  from  the  marchesa,  and 
ow,  glancing  at  her,  he  felt  sure  that  she  was  a 
•ttle  troubled  and  perplexed,  although  her  face 
:Tas  reassuring  in  its  bright  sweetness.  With  her 
>asy  way  of  bridging  over  an  awkward  interval, 
Constance  at  once  said,  — 

"  One  does  not  actually  believe  that  such  a  thing 
appened,  yet  there  are  hundreds  of  just  such 
tories  fully  vouched  for  and  authenticated." 

Kitty,  looking  at  Glen,  observed  something  in 
is  look  and  posture  which  suggested  that  he  had 
een  thrown  off  his  balance  by  her  account  of  the 
ipparition. 

"Do  you  believe  it?"  she  inquired. 

"  Believe  it  ?    Believe  in  the  ghost  ?     Yes,"  said 
rlen.     "  I  myself  have  been  haunted   for  years. 
Vhy  should  n't  other  people  be?  " 
i  "  Oh,  what  is  your  ghost,  cousin   Glen  ? "    de- 
landed  Kitty,  with  dilated  eyes. 

"Kitty,"  said  Glen,  "there  is  positively  some- 
ring  uncanny  about  you  at  times.  At  this  mo- 


72  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

ment  you  seem  to  be  looking  at  me  with  the  iiisight 
of  a  thousand  years." 

"  But  I  want  to  hear  about  the  ghost,"  Kitty 
explained. 

"  It  is  the  ghost  of  Glendenning  Rennio,"  he 
returned.  "  It  is  the  most  tiresome  ghost  in  the 
world.  I  'd  change  him  willingly  for  the  ghost  of 
a  pretty  woman." 

"  Do  you  mean,"  Kitty  demanded,  altogether  puz 
zled,  "  that  you  are  haunted  by  your  own  ghost  ?  " 

"  That  is  precisely  what  I  mean." 

"  How  does  it  come  ?  " 

"  The  moment  I  go  into  my  own  room  there  he 
is.  He  looks  out  of  the  glass  at  me.  Sometimes, 
when  I  am  tying  my  cravat,  I  say  to  myself,  '  Some 
day  I  shall  have  to  shoot  that  fellow.'  He  is  lying 
on  my  pillow  when  I  go  to  bed,  and  pours  out  his 
hopes  and  his  fears,  his  sins  and  his  passions  and 
his  remorses.  He  has  haunted  me  through  endless 
feverish  nights.  Oh  yes,  I  am  afraid  to  be  alone 
in  the  dark,"  he  added,  with  a  shiver.  He  kept  his 
eyes  on  Constance. 

"  Every  person  has  his  or  her  own  ghost  story  to 
tell,"  she  said  in  her  easy  way.  "  Does  anybody 
wish  to  hear  mine  ?  " 

"  I  never  should  have  expected  you  to  have  a 
ghost,  Conny,"  Glen  observed  in  a  tone  of  some 
irony. 

"No,  I  am  too  matter  of  fact,"  she  returned 
promptly.  "  It  is  somebody  else's  ghost  story  with 
which  I  was  to  a  certain  degree  mixed  up." 


LIVE  PEOPLE  AND   GHOSTS.  73 

"  Tell  it,"  said  Richard  Amory,  "  and  then  I  will 
•tell  thee  an  experience  that  has  haunted  me 
•through  my  life." 

"  Tell  it,"  said  Haliburton. 

They  had  finished  drinking  their  coffee.  Dilsey 
.took  away  the  empty  cups.  It  had  grown  darker, 
but  the  west  was  still  alight,  and  the  moon,  almost 
;at  its  first  quarter,  made  its  faint  light  felt. 

"  A  good  many  years  ago,"  Constance  began, ."  I 
made  a  friend  in  Rome,  a  Mrs.  Ponsonby,  an  Eng 
lishwoman.  She  was  a  widow,  and  a  friend  of 
my  husband's,  an  Italian  gentleman  of  good  fam 
ily,  became  interested  in  her,  and  wished  to  marry 
iher.  She  was  in  some  doubt  whether  or  not  to 
accept  his  offer.  She  was  uncertain  how  a  second 
marriage  would  affect  the  terms  of  her  settlements. 
At  any  rate,  she  wished  to  know  exactly  how  she 
stood,  and,  in  order  to  consult  certain  solicitors,  she 
was  obliged  to  go  to  England.  She  had  in  her 
possession  valuable  jewels  which  had  belonged  to 
her  husband's  mother.  She  spoke  of  them  to  me, 
and  said  she  was  not  sure  whether  Mr.  Ponsonby 
had  actually  given  them  to  her,  or  whether  as  heir 
looms  they  belonged  to  the  Ponsonby  family.  She 
had  expected  to  take  them  with  her,  but  at  the  last 
moment  decided  to  leave  them  behind.  As  it  was 
too  late  to  deposit  the  jewels  with  a  banker,  she 
isked  me  to  keep  them. until  her  return,  or,  in  case 
she  made  up  her  mind  to  surrender  them,  I  was  to 
forward  them  to  London.  Well,  she  left  Rome, 
ind,  in  crossing  France,  was  killed  in  a  terrible  rail- 


74  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

way  accident.     The  van  took  fire,  and  the  luggage 
was  consumed." 

"  And  you  had  her  jewels,"  said  Glen.  "  I  see 
the  point  of  the  story.  They  would  have  been 
supposed  to  have  been  burned  up  in  her  trunks." 

"  Precisely.  The  first  information  I  had  of  her 
death  was  an  item  in  the  London  '  Times  '  which 
went  on  to  say  that  valuable  family  heirlooms  had 
been  lost  at  the  time  of  Mrs.  Ponsonby's  death. 
They  were  described  at  length,  and  much  regret 
was  expressed  that  such  unique  jewels  should  have 
been  lost.  Not  a  soul  on  earth,  not  even  my 
husband,  knew  that  they  were  in  my  possession. 
Now  was  not  that  rather  an  interesting  situation  ?  " 

"  I  should  have  thought  so  if  I  had  been  in  your 
shoes,"  said  Glen.  "  Why  do  I  never  have  a 
chance  ?  " 

"  Were  they  actually  fine  jewels?"  Haliburton< 
asked. 

"  Some  really  beautiful  rubies,  and  a  necklace 
of  emeralds  and  diamonds  ;  four  bracelets,  a  string 
of  pearls,  and  rings  and  brooches  of  all  sorts. 
Really  quite  a  possession." 

"  What  did  thee  do,  Constance?"  asked  Richard, 
Amory. 

"  I  simply  wrote  to  Mrs.  Ponsonby's  solicitors 
in  England,  whose  address  she  had  given  me,  and 
told  them  the  jewels  were  in  my  hands.  The  droll 
part  of  my  story  is  that  Mrs.  Ponsonby's  sister,! 
Mrs.  Darcy,  was  quite  incensed  with  me  for  acting 
without  having  first  communicated  with  her.  She 


LIVE  PEOPLE  AND  GHOSTS.  75 

said,  as  the  jewels  were  supposed  to  have  been  lost, 
fit  was  quite  unnecessary  to  inform  the  Ponsonby 
i  family  of  their  existence  and  whereabouts,  for  as 
;  there  was  no  direct  heir,  they  went  to  a  remote 
I  cousin  who  was  already  too  rich  to  live,  and  thus 
I  benefited  nobody  —  whereas  " 

"  If  you  had  kept  them  yourself  " 
"  No,  this  Mrs.  Darcy  felt  that  they  belonged  to 
rher,  and  to  substantiate  this  presumption  she  told 
me  that  on  the  morning  this  railway  accident  hap- 
j  pened  she  awoke  in  the  gray  dawn  and  saw  her 
j  sister,  Mrs.    Ponsonby,    standing   by  her   bedside 
i  \\iih  these  jewels  in  her  hands,  saying,  '  Jane,  these 
ire  for  you.     I  always  intended  them  for  you.' ' 

"  If  this  be  madness  there  's  method  in  it,"  ob- 
'  »erved  Glen. 

"  The  dead  woman  should  have  appeared  to 
;  ;hee,  sister,"  said  Richard  Amory,  "  and  given 
•  hee  her  instructions." 

;  "  If  she  had  appeared,"  answered  Constance, 
'  and  told  me  not  to  send  the  jewels  to  her  solicitors 
)ut  to  give  them  to  her  sister,  I  wonder  what  I 
hould  have  decided  it  was  my  duty  to  do  ?  " 

"She  did  not  come,"  said  Haliburton.  "And 
f  she  had,  I  hardly  think  it  would  have  altered  the 
>oint  of  law." 

"  I  suspect  that  I  am  not  one  of  the  people  who 
ee  ghosts,"  said  Constance.  "  If  I  did  see  one  " 

"You  would  dismiss   him  —  thus,"    said  Glen, 
vith  a  little  wave  of  the  hand. 
"  I  will  tell  thee  my  own  ghost  story,  sister,"  said 


76  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGIITEE. 

Richard  Amory.  "  Thee  may  or  may  not  believe 
it,  but  it  came  to  pass  when  I  was  twenty-three 
years  old.  I  had  been  working  rather  hard,  —  so 
they  said ;  I  had  been  reading  law  in  Judge 
Parker's  office,  and  at  the  same  time  copying  and 
serving  an  apprenticeship  to  his  business.  I  went 
off  on  a  holiday.  It  was  a  very  hot  summer,  and 
I  wanted  a  cool  climate  and  some  fishing,  besides 
a  chance  for  pleasant  excursions  on  horseback  and 
on  foot.  Well,  I  had  heard  of  such  a  place  in 
Vermont.  I  went  there  and  engaged  a  room,  — 
a  room,  by  the  way,  on  the  ground  floor,  although 
that  is  of  no  sort  of  importance.  I  expected  to 
find  other  boarders,  —  I  did  not  expect  to  like 
them.  I  felt  awkward  and  unfriendly,  escaped 
them  and  their  overtures  as  much  as  I  could,  and 
must  soon  have  established  a  reputation  in  the 
house  for  unsociability,  since  I  barely  returned 
greetings  and  rarely  or  never  spoke  at  table.  Op 
posite  me  there  sat  a  young  woman,  who,  from  her 
being  directly  under  my  eyes,  became  particularly 
obnoxious.  She  had  reddish  golden  hair  which 
shone  round  her  head  like  an  aureole.  She  was  far 
from  handsome,  her  nose  was  large  and  wide,  her 
mouth  was  large  and  too  smiling,  her  eyes  were  full 
of  brightness  and  mischief.  All  this  might  have 
been  borne  " 

"  Easily,  I  should  think,"  Glen  put  in. 

"  But  what  jarred  on  my  nerves  more  and  more 
each  day  was  her  laugh,  —  a  very  strange  laugh, 
not  unmusical,  but  yet  unnatural.  It  seemed  to 


LIVE  PEOPLE  AND   GUOSTS.  11 

,  show  no  innocent  mirth,  but  sounded  as  if  she  had 
•  some  secret  reason  for  finding  amusement  in  what 
she  saw  and  heard.  I  never  exchanged  a  word 
with  this  girl.  I  never  looked  at  her  except  as 
she  came  directly  under  my  eyes  as  she  sat  oppo- 
.site  me  at  meals.  I  will  confess  that  it  seemed 
to  me  that  she  regarded  me  somewhat  too  pertina 
ciously.  I  felt  it  with  discomfort,  —  with  an  em 
barrassment  which  often  hindered  my  free  play 
with  my  knife  and  fork.  A  meal  was  an  ordeal 
;for  which  I  had  to  brace  myself.  I  sometimes 
thought  of  asking  the  landlady  to  change  my  seat 
at  table.  Yet  even  if  I  grew  more  unpleasantly 
conscious  of  dislike  of  this  girl's  proximity,  still  it 
iseemed  to  me  that,  as  I  should  still  hear  her  laugh 
wherever  I  sat,  I  preferred,  perhaps,  to  face  her." 

"  Now  was  n't  there  a  subtle  attraction  ?  "  de- 
|manded  Glen. 

"  Attraction  or  repulsion  —  or  both.  Thee  will 
,3ee.  I  had  been  in  the  house  almost  two  weeks. 
.One  afternoon  I  set  out  on  a  long  tramp  with  my 
rod  and  line.  I  caught  no  fish,  and  as  it  came  on  to 
rain  when  I  was  nine  miles  away,  I  got  drenched 
ito  the  skin  long  before  I  reached  the  boarding- 
liouse,  and  besides  lost  my  way  and  was  consider- 
,ibly  belated.  I  entered  unseen ;  no  one  came 
forward  to  offer  me  a  meal,  and  I  decided  that  I 
preferred  to  go  to  bed  supperless  rather  than  ring 
and  ask  for  it.  I  undressed  and  went  to  bed 
expecting  instantly  to  drop  asleep  from  fatigue. 
On  the  contrary  I  felt  restless,  uncomfortable ;  I  ( 


78  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

turned  from  side  to  side  finding  it  impossible  to 
relax  and  gain  ease.  I  bitterly  regretted  not  hav 
ing  found  some  one  and  insisted  on  having  a  meal. 
I  was  not  only  awake,  but  so  wide  awake  I  was 
certain  I  could  not  close  my  eyes  in  slumber  all 
night.  I  lighted  a  caudle,  looked  at  my  watch.  It 
was  ten  minutes  past  eleven.  The  various  sounds 
in  the  house  had  died  away,  and  I  knew  that  every 
body  else  was  at  rest.  Perhaps  now  repose  would 
come  to  me.  I  put  out  my  light  and  lay  down 
quietly  on  my  pillow.  All  at  once  a  noise  outside 
struck  my  ear.  I  seemed  to  hear  the  latch  of  my 
door  lifted  ;  then  came  a  sound  which  I  could  not 
mistake,  —  the  sound  of  that  girl's  laugh,  as  if 
she  had  leaned  down  and  laughed  through  the 
keyhole.  I  started  as  if  at  a  shock  from  an  elec 
tric  battery.  I  gazed  towards  the  door,  and  what 
corroborated  rny  belief  that  she  was  standing  out 
side  was  that  I  distinctly  saw  a  ray  of  light  appear 
through  the  chink.  As  I  looked  the  light  in 
creased,  —  the  door  opened  ;  the  whole  room  was 
illuminated.  The  girl  entered,  holding  a  lighted 
candle  in  one  hand,  partly  shading  it  with  the  fin 
gers  of  the  other.  She  walked  slowly  towards 
me,  —  she  approached  the  bed ;  she  fixed  her  eyes 
on  mine  ;  she  was  smiling  broadly  ;  as  she  drew 
near  she  leaned  down  and  laughed  in  my  ear.  I 
not  only  heard  her  laugh,  I  saw  her  face,  —  I 
saw  the  red-gold  aureole  of  her  hair,  —  I  saw  the 
pink  light  through  the  parting  of  her  fingers. 
Angry,  horror-stricken,  I  started  up  in  bed.  The 


LIVE  PEOPLE  AND   GHOSTS.  79 

light  vanished  ;  she  vanished.  I  lighted  my  own 
candle.  I  examined  the  room.  I  was  alone.  The 
door  was  as  I  had  left  it,  locked  and  bolted." 

Richard  Amory  paused,  and  looked  from  one  to 
the  other  of  his  audience  as  if  for  a  guarantee  that 
his  story  was  making  an  impression.  Each  face, 
white  in  the  dusk,  was  turned  eagerly  towards  him. 
He  went  on  :  — 

"  I  said  to  myself  it  had  been  an  ugly  dream, 
I  had  had  a  nightmare.  I  went  once  more  to  bed. 
I  turned  on  my  right  side.  I  closed  my  eyes.  No 
sooner  had  I  done  so  than  I  heard  the  click  at  the 
latch,  —  the  laugh  at  the  door.  I  looked  and  saw 
the  ray  of  light  through  the  chink  of  the  keyhole. 
Again  the  door  opened,  the  figure  appeared,  shad 
ing  the  candle  with  her  hand.  She  leaned  down  ; 
I  could  feel  her  breath  ;  she  laughed  in  my  ear. 
Again  I  started  up,  —  again  the  figure  vanished. 
I  rose,  relighted  my  candle,  examined  the  door  and 
found  it  fast.  I  took  a  blanket,  rolled  myself  in 
it,  sat  down  in  the  old-fashioned  bedside  chair, 
and  went  to  sleep.  When  I  awoke  it  was  broad 
daylight,  —  the  candle  was  burned  to  the  socket." 

"  Had  the  girl  died  in  the  night  ?  " 

"  Far  from  it.     She  was  at  the  breakfast-table." 

"The  effect  of  going  to  bed  supperless  and 
feverish  from  cold  and  exposure,"  Haliburton  sug 
gested. 

"  That  is  the  logical  explanation,"  said  Richard 
Amory.  "  And  I  can  assure  thee,  John,  I  com 
forted  myself  by  it  all  that  day.  But  on  the 


80  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

following  night  I  went  to  bed  after  a  substantial 
meal  and  the  same  experience  was  renewed." 

"  AVhat  did  you  do  about  it?  " 

"  Packed  my  effects  and  left  the  house  soon  after 
sunrise,"  said  Richard  Amory.  "  It  seemed  to 
me  that  it  was  time." 

"  I  should  certainly  have  stayed  on,"  said  Glen. 
"  Oh,  I  wish  thee  had  stayed  on,  cousin  Richard. 
Never  did  I  hear  before  of  a  good  Quaker  so  be 
witched." 

"  But,  uncle  Richard,  what  was  it  ?  "  demanded 
Kitty.  "  It  could  n't  be  a  ghost  if  she  was  still 
alive." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

SPIRITS   IN   THE   AIR. 

THEY  had  gone  into  the  house  after  Richard 
Amory  finished  his  story.  Haliburton  opened 
the  piano,  and  asked  Constance  for  some  music. 
When  she  rose  from  the  instrument,  after  playing 
for  half  an  hour,  Glen,  who  was  sitting  in  the 
French  window,  called  to  them  to  look  at  the  light- 
i  ning  flashes  in  the  west. 

"  It  will  show  beautifully  from  the  top  of  the 
hill,"  he  added.  "  Kitty,  come  out  with  me  and 
;see  it." 

"  May  I  go  with  cousin  Glen,  mamma  ? "  the 
young  girl  asked. 

"  Why,  certainly  go,"  Constance  replied.  "  But 
do  not  stay  too  long." 

Constance  turned  back  to  her  brother  and  John 
Haliburton,  and  they  went  on  discussing  ghosts, 
and  the  state  of  mind  and  nerves  which  led  to  see 
ing  them. 

"  I  'm  so  glad  to  get  out  under  the  sky,"  Glen 
was  saying  to  Kitty.  "  These  hot  summer  nights 
were  not  made  to  spend  beneath  roofs.  Feel  that 
breath  of  hot  wind !  In  Italy  you  would  say  the 
sirocco  was  blowing.  There  is  electricity  in  the 


82  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

air.  There  is  an  agitation  in  one's  nervous  centres  ; 
quick  currents  of  irritation  run  up  and  down  one's 
spine'." 

"  I  know,"  said  Kitty.  "  Imps  seem  to  be 
pinching  one." 

"  In  other  words,  I  feel  cross." 

"  With  me  ?  " 

"  Oh  dear,  no,  —  not  you,  Kitty.  It 's  myself 
I  hate." 

She  looked  at  him  with  concern. 

A  walk  bordered  with  rows  of  box  led  to  the 
brook ;  and  after  they  had  crossed  the  bridge,  they 
followed  a  narrower  footpath  till  they  reached  the 
top  of  a  sort  of  bluff,  wrhere  was  a  hedge  and  a 
stile.  They  mounted  the  steps  and  sat  down  on 
the  upper  one,  which  commanded  quite  an  exten 
sive  view,  for  the  woods  dropped  away  to  the  west ; 
out  towards  the  north  they  could  see  the  wide 
reaches  of  the  valley. 

Over  the  farther  hills  a  tract  of  sky  still  kept  a 
reminder  of  the  sunset  glow,  and  the  moon,  declin 
ing,  continually  swathed  and  unswathed  itself  in 
shining  vapors.  Opposite,  a  great  bank  of  cloud 
was  played  over  by  sheet  lightning. 

"  Do  you  care  about  music,  Kitty  ?  "  Glen  asked, 
after  they  had  sat  for  a  few  minutes  in  silence. 

"  /  care  about  music  ?  " 

"  I  hoped  you  did  not.  Does  your  mother  take 
what  she  plays  to  heart,  do  you  think  ?  " 

Kitty  turned  and  stared  at  him. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  succinctly ;  then,  after  a  mo- 


SPIRITS  IN   THE  AIR.  83 

merit,  added,  "  She  says  sometimes  that  she  is  too 
old  to  play  Chopin,  —  that  certain  composers  are 
for  youth." 

"  I  am  old  enough,  I  suppose,  to  be  a  dried-up 
mummy,"  said  Glen.  "  Still,  that  George  Sand 
waltz  always  makes  a  harpstring  of  me." 

"  Chopin  wrote  it  when  he  was  in  love  with 
George  Sand  ?  " 

"Ye-es." 

"  And  he  died  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  died." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Kitty,  "  if  she  could  ever 
endure  to  hear  it  played  afterwards?" 

"  You  see,"  returned  Glen,  "  George  Sand's 
harp  had  so  many  strings,  and  they  had  all  been 
twanged  so  many  times." 

"  If,"  said  Kitty,  with  a  note  of  acute  feeling  in 
her  voice,  "  if  anybody  had  ever  loved  me,  and 
had  written  anything  so  sweet,  —  if  I  had  heard  it 
after  he  was  dead  I  should  simply  " 

"  Well,  simply  what  ?  "  asked  Glen,  as  she  broke 
off. 

"  I  was  going  to  say  die.  But,  after  all,  one  does 
not  die  from  pure  emotion  unless  one  has  a  heart 
disease,  I  suppose.  Mamma  tells  me  to  say  always 
precisely  what  I  mean,  but  that  is  not  so  easy." 

"  A  little  hyperbole  does  help  one  amazingly." 

"For  example,  mamma  says  it  is  not  worth 
while  to  call  anything  eternal  that  only  lasts  two 
days." 

"  Good  for  Conny !     I  adore  her  sublime  com- 


84  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

mon  sense.  Nevertheless,  some  things  are  eternal. 
And  although  one  may  not  die  at  the  opportune 
moment,  death  comes  finally.  Pile  on  phrases  as 
one  may,  one  does  n't  begin  to  express  the  possible 
pain  of  life.  Nothing  but  music  can.  Chopin 
loved  George  Sand  dearly,  and  he  had  to  give  her 
up  and  —  other  things.  When  he  was  dying  he 
said,  '  Put  some  violets  in  my  room  ! '  It  was  fool 
ish,  of  course,  but  I,  too,  am  made  that  way." 
Glen  spoke  with  a  curious  fervor,  as  if  justifying 
himself  against  reproach.  Then,  when  he  saw  the 
reflection  of  his  intensity  on  Kitty's  face,  he  added 
in  a  different  voice  :  "  I  was  strolling  through  Pere 
Lachaise  last  year,  and  came  upon  Chopin's  grave ; 
on  the  flat  stone  lay  a  perfectly  fresh  bunch  of 
heliotrope,  still  sprayed  over  with  moisture.  Had 
I  been  ten  minutes  earlier  I  must  have  seen  who 
ever  it  was  put  it  there.  Was  it  some  young  girl 
passionately  enamored  of  his  music,  or  some  old 
woman  who  had  loved  Chopin  in  her  youth  ?  " 

"  It  was  a  young  girl,"  cried  Kitty.  "  I  am 
sure  it  was  a  young  girl." 

"  I  wish  I  had  seen  her.  I  have  been  curious 
about  it  ever  since,"  said  Glen.  He  pointed  to  the 
northwest.  "  See  that  cloud,  —  it  is  coming  up 
swiftly.  I  fancy  there  is  rain  in  it." 

"  I  love  to  lie  in  bed  and  hear  it  rain,"  said 
Kitty.  "  Before  it  comes,  when  the  clouds  are  fly 
ing  and  the  wind  roars  and  the  trees  crash  together, 
I  like  to  be  out  of  doors.  But  rain  quiets  me." 

"  Your  mother  plays  the  Raindrop  Prelude  ?  " 


SPIRITS  IN   THE  AIR.  85 

"  Oli  yes  ;  so  do  I."     Glen  shivered. 

"  I  'in  so  tired  of  this  brain,  of  these  nerves,"  he 
said.  "  I  should  like  to  be  born  over  again  and  con 
sulted  beforehand  ;  I  assure  you,  Kitty,  I  would 
have  quite  a  different  body  from  this." 

Kitty  gazed  at  him  startled. 

"  Sometimes,"  he  went  on,  "  I  am  quite  con 
tented  with  myself,  view  my  limitations  indul 
gently  ;  but  to-night  it  is  as  if  something  had 
exploded  within  me,  and  all  my  vanity,  all  my  self- 
belief,  is  blown  to  the  four  winds." 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  bear  to  have  you  utter  such 
speeches,"  she  faltered. 

"  Kitty,  you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  be  almost 
forty  years  old,  —  to  feel  that  you  have  wasted 
your  youth,  your  strength,  —  that  you  can  look  for 
ward  to  no  harvest,  because  you  have  not  planted 
and  watered.  I  never  grasped  the  realities  of  life. 
Indeed,  they  have  never  existed  where  I  am  con 
cerned.  I  don't  know  the  real  from  the  ideal." 

She  continued  to  listen  with  an  intense  sympathy 
expressed  in  her  whole  face.  He  accepted  the 
'sensibility  of  her  eyes,  her  parted  lips. 

"  You  pity  me,  don't  you,  dear  little  Kitty?"  he 
said.  "  You  don't  tell  me  when  I  make  my  yawp 
at  the  universe  that  it 's  all  my  own  fault.  Ah  !  " 

"  It  thunders  !  "  Kitty  exclaimed. 

"  Come,"  said  Glen.  "  Your  mother  will  be 
sending  for  you." 

He  held  out  his  hand,  Kitty  clasped  it,  and  off 
they  started  at  a  scamper  down  the  hill.  Looking 


86  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER.      . 

up  as  they  reached  the  little  bridge,  they  could  see 
that  the  canopy  of  cloud  was  approaching  the 
zenith ;  that  it  had  quite  swallowed  up  some  of  the 
stars,  while  others  vanished  and  reappeared,  —  van 
ished  and  then  shone  out  again,  as  the  heralding 
scuds  of  vapor  hurried  past  them. 

"  Hear  the  wind  roar  in  the  trees,"  said  Glen. 
"  It  is  like  a  hungry  wild  beast,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Let  us  run,  let  us  run,"  said  Kitty,  and  on* 
they  went.  Constance  was  waiting  for  them  on  the 
terrace.  Richard  Aniory,  casting  an  experienced 
glance  up  at  the  heavens,  said  it  would  not  rain 
for  half  an  hour  yet.  Haliburton  waited  to  see  if 
Glen  was  going  ;  then,  when  he  heard  him  bid  Con 
stance  good-night,  he  himself  walked  on  at  her  side. 

"Will  thee  take  my  arm,  Kitty?"  Richard 
Amory  asked  his  niece. 

She  put  her  hand  on  his  coat-sleeve,  then  drew 
it  away. 

"  It  is  so  very  hot,  uncle." 

"  Very  well,  monkey.  Thee  shall  walk  as  thee 
pleases,  and  I  will  walk  as  I  please." 

As  they  entered  the  woods  Kitty  rushed  forward 
as  if  she  had  wings.  The  wind  seemed  to  sweep 
her  along.  She  wished  it  would  bear  her  aloft. 
She  longed  to  be  part  of  the  force  which  made  the 
branches  and  leaves  all  struggle  and  rustle  to 
gether.  The  woods  were  dark,  but  from  time  to 
time  the  lightning  flashed  through  the  openings  in 
the  leafy  dome  above ;  once  it  flooded  the  whole 
solitude  with  almost  midday  splendor. 


SPIRITS  IN   THE  AIR.  87 

"Kitty!"  called  Richard  Amory.  "Where  is 
ithee,  Kitty?" 

She  darted  towards  him  out  of  the  silent  shades. 

"  Does  thee  think  to  thyself,"  he  asked,  "  that 
in  this  darkness,  in  this  approaching  tempest,  thee 
.is  still  something?  That  even  though  to-morrow 
;thee  shalt  die,  still  at  this  moment  thee  feels  the 
grandeur  of  nature  —  of  the  universe  ?  " 

Meanwhile  Haliburton  walked  beside  Constance 
[watching  for  the  flashes  of  lightning  that  he  might 
see  her  face  framed  in  the  lace  mantilla.  The  very 
i charm  of  the  moment  troubled  him  ;  he  had  been 
^conscious  to-night  of  something  unusual  in  Glen's 
look,  tone,  and  manner.  It  was  not  like  Glen  to 
,have  resigned  so  easily  the  chance  of  this  walk 
home  ;  and  his  mind  began  to  be  engrossed  in  a 
slow  wrestle  with  the  idea  that  this  was  the  time 
and  opportunity  for  him  to  make  a  sort  of  appeal 
:for  Glen. 

For  Haliburton  to  see  any  possible  duty  was  to 
feel  tormented  until  he  had  done  all  he  might  to 
acquit  himself  of  it.  That  he  should  bring  him- 
'self  to  earth  with  his  own  arrow  was  no  matter. 

Constance  had  made  some  remark,  to  which  he 
.replied,  — 

"  Yes,  marchesa,"  when  she  exclaimed,  — 

"  Why  should  you  address  me  by  that  title  ?  " 

"  What  shall  I  call  you,  then  ?  " 

"  Call  me  Constance.  Everybody  calls  me  Con- 
;  stance  here.  We  are  all  in  some  sort  cousins, — • 
not  to  say  Quakers." 


88  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  call  you  Constance,"  Hali 
burton  said.  "  I  may  as  well  confess  that  I  call 
you  Constance  to  myself,  sometimes  even  aloud  to 
Glen." 

"Fate  throws  us  all  together  again,"  she  ob 
served.  "  It  has  given  me  a  feeling  of  destiny,  of 
the  immutable  and  inevitable.  —  in  coming  back 
where  my  childhood  began,  as  if  this,  and  this 
only,  were  my  real  home." 

"  I  should  like  to  feel  that  you  regard  even  me  as 
an  old  friend,  for  there  is  something  I  wish  to  say 
which  lies  very  near  my  heart,"  said  Haliburton. 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  startled  curiosity. 

Irrationally  he  suddenly  experienced  a  dread  of 
what  he  had  to  say.  All  the  more  he  felt  that  it 
must  be  uttered. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about  Glen,"  he  said. 

"  About  Glen  ?  "  she  repeated. 

"  Perhaps  you  think  I  have  not  the  right,"  Hali 
burton  went  on  almost  impetuously.  "  But  re 
member  that  Glen  is  very  near  to  me,  very  dear ; 
he  is  my  nephew,  but  the  actual  tie  is  more  as  if  he 
were  a  brother,  a  son.  Nothing  in  the  world  would 
make  me  so  happy  as  to  see  him  happy." 

"  Is  he  not  happy  ?  "  she  asked,  with  something 
of  nonchalance  in  her  tone.  "  He  seems  to  me 
blithe  and  light-hearted." 

"  You  know  he  is  not  happy.  You  know  that 
for  twelve  years  he  has  needed  you  to  make  him 
happy,"  said  Haliburton.  "  Why  not  reward  his 
constancy  ?  " 


SPIRITS  IN  THE  AIR.  89 

She  was  silent  for  the  long  moment  that  Hali- 
burton  waited,  expecting  some  response.  Then,  as 
,  if  he  had  not  yet  delivered  his  full  message,  he 
went  on :  — 

"  Of  course  you  cannot  feel  for  him  as  I  do. 
He  was  always  with  us  at  Christmas  when  he  was 
a  child.  I  have  filled  his  stocking  many  a  time. 
!  Once  in  the  country,  when  he  was  learning  to 
skate,  he  fell  through  a  hole  in  the  ice,  and  I  car 
ried  him  back  to  the  house  in  my  arms,  —  a  good 
two  miles,  —  at  first  in  doubt  whether,  after  all,  I 
had  not  been  too  late  to  save  him.  One  does  not 
get  over  the  pull  at  the  heart  such  experiences  give 
one." 

"  No,"  said  Constance  sweetly  and  thoughtfully. 
i "  I  can  readily  understand  that  Glen  is  peculiarly 
dear  to  you.  In  fact,  we  all  love  him." 

"  He  was  a  little  spoiled  by  his  own  mother ; 
my  mother  did  her  best  to  spoil  him  utterly,"  Hali- 
•  burton  went  on,  as  if  compelled  to  speak.  "Some 
people  say  he  is  an  egoist ;  if  so,  he  is  the  most 
'lovable  of  egoists.  And  in  spite  of  his  egoism,  he 
has  got  so  little  out  of  the  world, — nothing,  in 
fact,  except  his  long,  hopeless  feeling  for  you." 

He  paused.  They  were  crossing  the  lawn.  Rich- 
fard  Amory  and  Kitty  had  far  outstripped  them, 
and  they  stood  quite  alone.  The  wind,  which  had 
Iroared  through  the  trees  while  they  were  in  the 
iwood,  now  came  in  fitful  gusts ;  above,  the  heavy 
massing  clouds  were  torn  apart  by  it,  and  here  and 
there  a  star  shone  for  a  moment,  then  was  blotted 


90  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

out.  She  had  stopped,  faced  about  in  the  path, 
and  now  said,  —  . 

"  Do  I  understand,  Mr.  Haliburton,  that  you  are 
urging  me  to  marry  Glen  ?  " 

He,  too,  had  stopped  short ;  she  had  extended  her 
bare,  warm  hand  with  a  little  gesture,  and  he,  per 
haps  a  little  confused,  took  it ;  then,  clasping  it,  he 
stood  still,  staring  at  her. 

"  Are  you  in  earnest  in  wishing  me  to  marry 
him?"  she  said  again. 

He  pressed  her  hand  to  his  breast.  Something 
seemed  to  paralyze  him.  To  see  her  standing  there 
close,  looking  up  at  him,  while  he  felt  the  joy  of 
that  touch,  almost  overcame  him  ;  he  could  not 
keep  down  the  throbs  of  his  heart.  To  say  "  No  " 
was  false  ;  to  say  "Yes  "  was  falser  still.  Neverthe 
less,  her  simple,  practical  question  had  to  be  recog 
nized  and  met. 

"  It  is  an  awkward  thing  to  say,"  he  faltered, 
"  but  although  Glen  is  not  a  rich  man,  he  will 
always  have  a  sufficient  income  as  long  as  he  lives. 
That  he  is  poor  is  not  because  he  is  incapable  of 
earning  money  like  other  men,  but  because  he  has 
had  little  use  or  need  of  it." 

She  laughed  softly.  "  You  are  very  generous," 
she  said.  "  I  do  consider  you  the  most  faithful  and 
most  generous  of  men.  I  understand,  then,  that  you 
insist  on  my  marrying  him?  " 

"  If  you  will  marry  him,  Constance,  I  shall  be 
very  glad.  He  has  loved  you  long  and  faithfully ; 
if  any  man  were  to  stand  in  his  way,  thwart,  or 


SPIRITS  IN   THE  AIE.  91 

hinder  him  in  his  suit  to  you,  that  man  must  be  no 
better  than  a  miserable  traitor." 

She  drew  her  hand  away  from  his,  turned,  and 
walked  on. 

"  You  are  no  traitor,"  she  said  in  a  calm,  reason 
able  tone.  "  You  have  done  your  best  for  Glen  in 
ill  ways.  I  have  no  intention  of  marrying.  How 
3an  any  woman  make  a  third  marriage  ?  A  second 
;.s  bad  enough.  Kitty  and  I  are  happy  together. 
[  can  say  110  more  now.  Perhaps,  some  time,  I 
,  nay  feel  like  telling  you  more  candidly  how  I  have 
ilways  felt  towards  Glen,  —  how  I  still  feel.  He 
s  like  a  dear  younger  brother  to  me.  Ah,  the 
;hunder  is  getting  nearer.  Good-night." 

They  shook  hands  on  the  terrace.  She  went  in 
it  once,  and  Haliburton  turned  on  the  instant  and 
.trode  towards  home. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A    GAME    OP   THREE. 

IT  was  a  race,  but  Haliburton  beat  the  advan 
cing  rain  by  a  yard.  Running  up  the  steps,  he  felt 
the  patter  of  the  first  drop.  Entering  the  house, 
he  looked  through  the  rooms ;  then,  not  finding 
Glen,  came  out  again,  and  discovered  him  huddled 
up  in  the  corner  of  the  bench  in  the  porch.  Ilali- 
burton  waited,  thinking  he  might  be  asleep. 

"  How  long  you  were  gone  !  "  Glen  said,  suddenly 
opening  his  eyes. 

"  We  did  not  walk  fast,  but  I  simply  took  the 
marchesa  to  Waldstein.  Why  did  you  not  go  with 
her  ?  I  waited,  expecting  you  would  do  so." 

"  I  had  already  made  a  fool  of  myself  once," 
said  Glen.  He  jumped  up.  "  When  have  I  not 
made  a  fool  of  myself?"  He  strode  about,  beat 
ing  his  temples  with  his  fists.  "  Let 's  play  cards," 
he  said,  with  a  note  of  savage  feeling  in  his  voice. 
"One  can't  go  to  bed  with  this  infernal  hubbub 
going  on." 

As  he  spoke  a  flash  of  lightning  showed  his  face, 
—  it  was  pale  to  ghastliness. 

"  Are  you  ill,  Glen  ?  "  Haliburton  inquired  anx 
iously. 


A    GAME  OF  THEEE.  93 

"  I  have  felt  horribly  nervous  all  the  evening. 
However,  it  is  hard  to  tell  what  is  soul  and  what 
3ody,  and  Conny  would  say  that  something  at  din- 
ler  probably  disagreed  with  me.  She  is  so  sensi- 


He  laughed  ironically.  John  put  his  hand  on 
jlen's  arm. 

"  I  'm  afraid  something  went  wrong  between  you," 
ie  said. 

i  "Did  she  allude  to  it?" 

'   "  We  spoke  of  you,  but  she  made  no  allusion  to 
•nything  you  had  said  to  her." 

"  Did  she  say  that  she  wished  I  had  married  ?  " 
:  "No." 

"  She  said  it  to  me,  —  wished  I  had  married  some 
ich,  pretty  girl  who  would  have  helped  me  on  in 
he  world." 

"  She  meant  that  instead  of  wasting  your  life  in 
'  dream  you  had  made  ties,  had  a  family,  and  felt 
ie  need  of  concentrating  your  powers." 

"  Of  course  she  is  most  wise  and  sensible.  Why 
ave  I  not  made  ties?  She  knows  perfectly  well 
•iat  I  have  not  been  able  to  get  her  out  of  my 
ead." 

"  You  offered  yourself  to  her,  and  she  declined 

.e  proposal." 

"  She  knows  that  did  not  end  it." 
'  "  It  must  end  it  for  a  man  when  a  woman  says 
ie  prefers  not  to  marry  him.     Constance,  at  any 
ite,  is  no  coquette." 

"No,  I  acquit  her  of  coquetry.     I  also  acquit 

>r  of  knowing  anything  about  love." 


96  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

rummaging  in  the  cabinet.  It  was  Glen  who  found 
the  cards,  and  he  and  Teddy  pushed  out  a  card- 
table,  while  Haliburton  and  Dilsey  busied  them 
selves  in  the  pantry. 

"  Something  cold,  cold,  cold,"  said  Glen,  as  Dil 
sey  brought  a  bowl  of  cracked  ice  and  some  bottles 
of  seltzer.  "  What  is  it  you  have  got,  John  ? 
Champagne?  Why,  you  good  old  fellow!  Big 
glasses,  Dilsey.  Fill  them  to  the  brim  with  ice, 
then  pour  in  the  seltzer,  and  just  dash  it  with  the 
champagne.  This  is  one  of  the  sweet,  fiery  cups 
of  Circe.  No  matter  if  it  does  make  us  go  on  all 
fours.  I  only  wish  it  might  transform  me.  I  'm 
sick  of  trying  to  walk  upright  on  two  legs,  and  be 
a  man.  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  how  all  the  old 
mythology  and  all  the  old  folk-lore  legends  turn  on 
a  metamorphosis  ?  Yet  the  ancients  did  not  need 
transformation.  They  could  fight  hard,  —  no  mat 
ter  in  what  shape ;  fight  with  teeth  and  claws  if 
need  be,  —  and  eat  and  drink  and  sleep  and  wallow 
and  drag  their  gods  down  to  their  level.  They 
never  knew  what  it  was  to  be  the  prey  of  a  feeling 
they  dared  not  put  into  action.  We  moderns  are 
never  quite  sure  whether  what  knocks  at  the  gate 
of  soul  and  sense  is  a  devouring  dragon  or  an 
angel  with  a  message.  Well,  no  matter ;  shuffle  the 
cards.  What  shall  we  play  ?  What  can  three  people 
play  ?  Poker  ?  Euchre  ?  Monte  ?  What  is  your 
game,  John  ?  Nothing  but  whist  ?  I  might  have 
expected  it.  What  you  do  is  certain  to  be  respect 
able,  safe,  —  no  putting  all  you  hold  precious  at 


A   GAME  OF  THREE.  97 

i  the  hazard  of  a  die.  But,  after  all,  there  's  no  game 
like  whist.  I'll  play  with  a  dummy.  Teddy, 
draw  up  a  chair  for  my  invisible  partner.  We  will 
be  polite  and  not  name  him.  He  and  I  against 
you  both.  What  are  points?"  Glen  drew  out 
a  handful  of  silver,  and  laid  it  on  the  table  oppo 
site.  "  Dummy  has  the  first  deal,"  he  said.  "  Cut, 
Teddy." 

He  dealt  the  cards,  glanced  hastily  through  his 
own  hand,  chuckled,  then,  with  his  long  lithe  fin 
gers,  languidly  laid  out  the  suits  opposite. 

Haliburton  replenished  the  glass  which  Glen  had 
thirstily  drained. 

"  Here 's  to  our  hand,"  Glen  said,  drinking  to 
the  empty  chair.  "  We  have  it  all  between  us. 
Who  was  it  said  Death  was  a  sure  partner  ?  " 

"  A  man  with  a  new  cemetery,"  suggested 
Teddy. 

"  You  fellows  will  have  two  tricks,  —  no  more," 
said  Glen.  He  set  down  his  glass.  "  You  play, 
John.  Two  of  hearts,"  he  called  to  Dummy. 
"  Here  comes  the  ace ;  put  your  king  on,  Teddy. 
Now  for  your  trumps,  partner.  Here  go  the  next 
five  tricks.  Ah,  you  missed  it  then !  You  might 
have  saved  that  club.  I  gave  you  two  tricks,  but 
you  have  a  single  beggarly  one.  Dummy,  my 
friend,  you  and  I  against  the  world.  Shall  we 
double  the  stakes  ?  " 

"  We  might  as  well  hand  over.  It 's  a  regular 
case  of  '  stand  and  deliver,'  "  said  Teddy.  "  You 
have  it  all  your  own  way.  We  must  follow  where 


98  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

you  lead.  The  laurels  are  all  yours,  Glen,  to  say 
nothing  of  our  spare  cash.  Well,  lucky  at  cards, 
unlucky  at  love." 

"  You  mean  that  I  am  unlucky  at  love  ?  "  saicu 
Glen,  as  if  stung'.     "  That  you  and  John  are  " 

"  I  meant  nothing  —  nothing  —  nothing  in  the 
world  except  that  you  have  your  hand  in  our  pock 
ets,  and  it  hurts,"  said  Teddy,  with  perfect  calm 
and  patience.  "  Don't  try  to  flatter  me  into  the 
belief  that  I  am  lucky  in  love." 

"  Don't  fling  it  in  my  face  that  I  am  unlucky," 
said  Glen.  "  Of  course  I  know  it ;  but  don't 
hammer  it  down  too  hard.  Don't  turn  the  knife 
in  the  gaping  wound." 

"  I  had  n't  the  faintest  idea  you  wrere  in  love," 
Teddy  ventured,  with  an  air  of  making  apology. 

"  Confound  it,  I  am  not,"  Glen  declared.  "  That 
is,  not  with  any  woman.  What  I  'm  in  love  with 
are  the  good  things  of  life  out  of  my  reach." 

"  I  should  say  you  had  most  good  things  within 
your  reach." 

"  What,  in  heaven's  name  ?  " 

"You  are  the  handsomest  and  most  delightful 
fellow  I  know,"  said  Teddy,  with  a  little  gesture 
of  deprecation,  lest  he  should  be  saying  too 
much. 

"  Besides  good  looks,"  said  Haliburton,  "  you 
have  your  share  of  talent." 

"  Genius,"  insisted  Teddy. 

"I  have  always  considered  you  the  luckiest  of. 
men,  Glen,"  Haliburton  proceeded,  "  that  is,  in 


A   GAME  OF  THREE.  99 

your  natural  endowments.  If  you  have  played 
with  your  chances  a  little  "  — 

Glen  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter. 

"  I  've  been  posing  to  myself  as  a  played-out  in 
dividual,"  he  said.  "  Suppose  I  were  to  waylay 
Destiny  and  bid  her  stand  and  deliver,  take  a 
turn,  and  go  in  for  fortune  ?  " 

"  I  'd  throw  up  my  hat.     I  'd  eat  it  for  pure 

joy." 

"  That 's  a  generous  old  John." 

"  It 's  your  turn,"  said  Teddy. 

Glen   played   through   the    hand   mechanically. 
!  He  and  Dummy  took  every  trick. 

"  Oh,  hang  cards  !  "    said   the  winner.      "  This 
simulacrum   of   luck   bores    me.     I    would  rather 
talk.     What  have  you  been  doing,  Teddy? " 
i      "  I  went  to  cousin  Richard  Amory's." 

"  Did  you  find  them  ?  " 

"  They  were  out,  but  I  waited.     Gatty  had  sent 
:a  message.     They  finally  came  in." 

"  A  pity  you  did  not  know  they  were  all  dining 
here,"  suggested  Haliburton.  "  I  almost  sent  you 
an  invitation,  Teddy,  —  wanting  a  partner  for 
•  Kitty,  —  but  we  decided  to  begin  in  a  small 
'way." 

"  Oh,  I  wish  you  had,"  said  Teddy,  with  such  a 
'heightening  of  color  and  kindling  of  glance  that 
.Haliburton  and  Glen  exchanged  a  look  of  under 
standing. 

Glen  had  left  his  chair,  and  now  threw  himself 
1  on  a  divan,  piling  a  dozen  bright-colored  cushions 


100  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

behind  him.  His  whole  mood,  from  being  queru 
lous,  had  changed,  and  was  touched  with  audacity 
and  mischief. 

"  That  girl  is  going  to  be  pretty,  Ted.  Don't 
you  think  so  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  She  is  pretty  now,  I  think,"  Teddy  murmured, 
"  and  so  talented." 

"  Talented  ?  Is  she  talented  ?  I  had  n't  thought 
of  her  being  anything  except  a  splendid  Greek 
head  set  on  top  of  a  beanpole." 

"  She  is  thin,"  Teddy  conceded,  "  but  she  is 
simply  the  most  graceful  creature  I  ever  saw." 

"  She  has  got  a  pair  of  eyes,"  Glen  pursued. 
"  One  of  these  days  they  will  make  the  dry  fuel  in 
somebody  blaze  up  into  a  conflagration." 

Teddy  flushed  angrily.  "  She  is  so  well  edu 
cated,"  he  observed  primly.  "  She  speaks  four 
languages,  and  plays  on  three  instruments." 

"Very  badly." 

"  It  does  n't  so  much  matter.     I  like  her  taking: 

O 

a  violin  up  to  the  top  of  a  tree,  and  playing  it." 

"  I  should  rather  she  did  not  frighten  the  birds 
away,"  suggested  Glen.  "  Or  does  she  pose  as 
Orpheus  ?  " 

"  She  could  n't  pose,"  said  Teddy. 
"  She  is  a  tricksy  sprite,"  Haliburton  remarked, 
as  Glen  did  not  answer,  but  fell  to  thumping  the 
cushions,  clearly  bored  with  the  young  fellow's 
enthusiasm.  To  think,  Glen  mused,  extending 
himself  at  full  length  and  staring  at  the  ceiling, 
—  to  think  of  Kitty's  having  a  lover !  He  sud- 


A   GAME  OF  THREE.  101 

denly  recalled  the  cool,  satin  touch  of  Kitty's  slim 
fingers,  as  they  slid  into  his  hand,  and  every  inci 
dent  of  his  talk  with  the  young  girl  —  while  they 
watched  the  lightning  and  the  moon  covering  and 
uncovering  her  face  —  came  back  clear-cut,  fresh, 
interesting.  In  spite  of  his  ill  luck  he  had  dis 
tanced  Teddy ;  this  solemn  youngster  would  have 
had  to  look  and  stare  for  six  months  before  Kitty 
would  have  trusted  him  as  she  trusted  Glen. 

"  Let  's  suppose  a  case,"  he  burst  out  as  if  con 
tinuing  the  subject.  "  Suppose  each  one  of  us 
knew  he  had  but  a  year  to  live,  what  should  we 
each  desire  most  ?  " 

"  Only  a  year  to  live  ?  "  repeated  Teddy,  aghast. 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  young  fellows  read  Balzac 
or  Goethe.  But  there  have  been  stories  told  in 
which  the  devil  offered  an  unhappy  young  fellow 
a  year's  fulfillment  of  his  heart's  desire." 

"  Is  Satan  at  your  elbow  with  such  a  proposi 
tion  ?  "  Haliburton  asked. 

"  Granted  that  he  was,  and  that  he  offered  you, 
without  limit,  love,  wealth,  literary  ambition  "  — •• 

"  For  only  a  year  ?  A  year  is  so  short,"  said 
Haliburton. 

"  You  spoiled  child  of  good  luck  !  Three  hun 
dred  and  sixty-five  days  of  happiness  !  Did  you 
ever  in  your  life  know  what  it  was  to  be  happy  for 
sixty  consecutive  minutes  ?  " 

"  If  I  could  only  be  happy  for  a  year,"  said 
Teddy,  "  I  should  see  a  ghost  the  whole  time,  and 
it  would  make  me  profoundly  miserable." 


102  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  happiness," 
said  Haliburton. 

"  I  don't  mean  being  passively  well  off,  well  fed, 
comfortable,  —  but  happy.  As  if  you  were  a  god; 
as  if  this  world,  with  all  its  possible  delights, 
were  made  for  you,  —  not  for  other  men,  but  for 


Without  actual  change  of  feature  Haliburton's 
face  still  showed  a  certain  difference  in  expression. 

"  Of  course,"  Glen  went  on,  pressing  the  point 
roguishly,  "  when  a  man  thinks  of  happiness  he 
is  sure  of  a  friendly  hand  within  reach  with 
permission  to  take  it  in  his  own,  and  that  hand 
must  belong  to  a  woman  —  to  the  woman  he  loves, 
and  whose  heart  is  unalterably  his." 

Teddy  blushed  again  furiously,  jumped  up,  and 
strode  to  the  window. 

"  It  is  pouring,"  he  said. 

"  If  that  is  your  definition  of  happiness,"  ob 
served  Haliburton,  with  the  glimmer  of  a  smile 
in  his  eyes  and  on  his  lips,  "  I  see  no  ghost  of  a 
chance  for  myself." 

"  No  ghost  of  a  chance  ?  "  said  Glen.  "  Twenty 
women  would  jump  at  you." 

"  I  don't  flatter  myself  to  that  degree." 

"  Modest  John.  But  confess  that  you  would 
like  it  "  - 

"  Twenty  women  jumping  at  me  !  I  should 
rather  think  not." 

"  No  ;  I  mean  having  the  one  who  did  n't  jump." 

Haliburton  shook  his  head. 


A   GAME  OF  THREE.  103 

,  "  He  won't  confess  it,"  shouted  Glen  in  high 
flee ;  "  it  is  like  calling  the  statue  of  the  com- 
nendatore  off  the  pedestal." 

"  Try  Teddy ;  he  is  of  the  age  to  understand 
uch  things." 

"  Well,  Teddy  "- 

"  I  told  you  I  should  n't  like  happiness  for  one 
ingle  year,"  Teddy  said,  with  conviction. 
';  "  Not  a  pretty  little  wife  "  — 

"  I  'm  not  old  enough  to  be  married,"  Teddy 
eturned,  with  a  half  shrug.  "  I  've  got  to  finish 
iay  course  at  college,  go  through  the  law  school, 
-nd  make  some  money  first." 

"  How  sensible  he  is,  how  sane  !  "  cried  Glen, 
as  brows  puckering.  "  He  won't  sell  his  soul,  as 
lost  of  us  do,  fifty  times  over,  and  get  beaten  at 
he  bargain." 

"  Before  a  boat-race  or  a  cricket-match,"  Teddy 
tow  conceded,  "  I  might  be  tempted." 

"  Teddy,"  said  Glen,  "  I  wish  that  I  were  you." 

"  Young  and  strong  ?  " 

"  I  see  you  don't  return  the  compliment." 

"  Teddy  is  like  me,"  said  Haliburton ;  "  not 
.sed  to  mental  gymnastics,  turning  spiritual  somer- 
aults,  spinning  spiders'  webs  out  of  one's  own 
itals.  You  are  the  man  of  imagination,  Glen, 
^ell  us  what  you  would  sell  your  soul  for." 

"  I  feel  at  this  moment  as  if  it  were  not  worth 
ixpence.  Sometimes  it  is  so  infernally  hard  to 
nake  believe  that  anything  is  worth  the  candle." 
jlen  closed  his  eyes  and  mused.  "  Love !  "  he 


104  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

went  on  presently.  "  What  is  love  ?  A  meal 
where  you  eat  or  where  you  are  eaten  !  A  tiger- 
hunt,  —  you  hunt  the  tiger  or  the  tiger  hunts  you. 
I  know  one  thing,  —  no  woman  ever  cared  a  button 
about  me,  and  never  will.  That  sort  of  happiness 
is  quite  out  of  my  reach.  I  might  say  I  wanted 
my  poems  to  run  into  twenty  editions,  that  my 
hard  words  might  become  shibboleths,  my  photo 
graphs  sell  by  thousands,  my  admirers  form  a 
Glen  Rennie  society,  —  but  if  I  were  as  successful 
as  that  I  should  know  I  was  a  fraud.  Wealth  and 
perdition  afterwards,  —  what  is  wealth  good  for 
any  way  ?  A  fellow  can't  eat  two  breakfasts  and 
two  dinners.  The  fact  is,  one  requires  a  dogmatic 
belief  in  the  power  of  the  devil  in  order  to  feel  the 
requisite  belief  in  the  temptation.  But  those 
fables  show  what  lies  in  the  heart  of  man." 

Teddy,  still  standing  at  the  window,  pointed 
outside,  uttering  an  exclamation.  One  flash  of 
lightning  followed  another,  and  the  whole  place 
was  as  bright  as  day.  They  could  see  the  walks 
in  the  garden  like  foaming  brooks,  and  long  spouts 
of  water  descending  from  the  roofs  and  gables. 
Then  came  loud  thunder  crashing  from  cloud  to 
cloud,  and  the  wind,  as  if  answering  the  challenge, 
roared  among  the  trees.  All  three  had  gathered 
at  the  window,  looking  into  inky  blackness  and 
listening  to  the  swirls  of  gusty  rain  mingling  with 
the  sobs  of  the  alternately  lulling  and  reviving 
wind.  Then  the  lightnings  blazed  forth  again, 
illuminating  the  lawn  and  shrubberies,  the  flower- 


A   GAME  OF  THREE.  105 

|  beds,  and  the  summer-house  where  they  had  sat 
,  and  told  stories. 

Glen  seemed  to  see  Kitty's  sleek,  black  head 
restlessly  turning  on  the  pillow  while,  she  heard 
;  the  rain  and  the  wind  and  thunder  and  longed  to 
j  be  out  in  the  wild  uproar. 

He  put  his  hand  on  Teddy's  shoulder. 

"  So  you  've*got  all  your  life  planned  out,"  he 
said. 

"  Of  course  a  fellow  has  to  have  it  all  in  his 
mind." 

"  You  are  going  to  study  law  ?  " 

"  He  's  coming  in  with  us,"  said  Haliburton  ; 
i  "  that  is,  as  soon  as  he  is  through  the  law  school." 

"  Everything  is  ready-made  for  you." 

"  I  hope  so." 

"  Little  wife  and  all." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  that,"  said  Teddy,  blush 
ing  to  his  eyes. 

There  had  come  a  sudden  lull  in  the  storm. 
He  decided  to  set  forth.  Haliburton  offered  him 
a  bed,  but  he  said  his  mother  would  be  anxious. 
They  watched  him  plunge  into  the  black  gulf  out 
side.  The  shower  had  passed  on:  the  lightning 
played  in  the  east ;  the  thunder  still  muttered,  but 
was  retreating  farther  and  farther  away. 


CHAPTER  IX. 
GLEN'S  STRANGE  EXPERIENCE. 

GLEN  was  ill  for  several  days  after  the  dinner 
party,  and  Sue  Darrow  came  over  and  nursed  him. 
He  had  taken  cold,  and  it  resulted  in  one  of  the 
sharp  feverish  attacks  to  which,  from  childhood,  he 
had  been  subject,  and  which  put  him  for  a  few 
hours,  at  least,  in  a  critical  condition,  serving  to 
show  on  how  fine  a  needle's  point  his  chances  of 
life  were  balanced. 

This  particular  attack  roused  a  terrible  sense 
of  fatality  in  Haliburton.  It  was  impossible  not 
to  ascribe  it  to  the  evening's  experience,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  the  high  pulse,  the  intense  fever  and 
struggle  for  breath,  were  the  result  of  the  tragic 
pang  of  Glen's  heartbreak  over  Constance.  Some 
instinct  had  made  Haliburton  go  into  Glen's  room 
at  dawn  to  see  if  his  windows  were  shut,  —  for  the 
weather  had  grown  cool,  —  and  the  signs  of  dis 
order —  a  book  turned  down  on  its  face,  a  hand 
kerchief  drenched  in  cologne,  all  the  pillows  and 
cushions  piled  as  high  as  it  was  possible  to  make 
them  —  gave  John  a  horrible  feeling.  It  was  hard 
for  him  to  realize  that  Glen  was  not  in  danger. 
Life  and  consciousness  seemed  ebbinq;  to  their  last 


GLEN'S   STRANGE  EXPERIENCE.  107 

remnant.  It  was  no  difficult  matter  to  believe 
that  the  almost  spent  forces  fluttered  helpless ; 
that  they  would  soon  be  past  seeing,  past  hearing, 
past  sense  of  touch  and  recognition,  without  power 
of  recuperation  ;  that  Glen's  life  would  be  a  breath 
spending  itself  in  vain,  a  flame  just  at  the  point 
of  extinguishment,  a  feather  going  forth  into  the 
wind,  —  whither  ? 

"With  all  his  love  for  Glen  excited  to  an  ideal 
intensity,  a  passionate  exaltation,  Haliburton  hung 
over    him  for    three    hours,    and   then,    at   eight 
,  o'clock,  to  have  Sue    Darrow  appear   in  cap  and 
apron,  arrange  the  pillows  comfortably,  drop  and 
administer  the  restoratives  which  the  hastily  sum- 
,  moned  doctor  had  by  this  time  sent,  was  as   ex 
quisite  a  relief  as  he  had  ever  experienced. 

Glen,  meanwhile,  after  his  sharp  tussle  with  suf 
fering,  found  himself  rather  comfortable,  and  by  the 
;  second   afternoon   lay   quiet,   smiling,   wondering, 
j  accepting  ministrations  without  opening  his  eyes, 
halting  on  the  threshold  of  thought  without  trying 
;  to  cross  it,  feeling  that  his  ease  of  mind  and  body 
was  not  on  his  own  conscience,  but  on  everybody's 
,  conscience.     Gradually  he  decided  that  the  deft, 
,  capable  hand  that  made  all  things  so  easy,  so  effica 
cious,  must  be  the  hand  of  Constance  Bertini.    Im- 
|  possible  that  any  one  else  could  do  everything  so 
I  perfectly.    A  vague  sentiment  of  beatitude  hovered 
;  over  him  like  a  perfume.     He  seemed  to  inhale  it, 
live  on  it,  live  by  it.     It  had  something  to  do  with 
I  the  novel  ease  with  which  he  drew  breath,  with  the 


108  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

refreshment  lie  found  in  sinking  into  sleep.  Who 
else  could  it  be  but  Constance  ? 

"  One  gets  spoiled  here ;  but  God  owed  me  this ; 
in  my  youth  I  suffered  too  much,"  Winckelmann 
wrote  when  he  had  arrived  at  his  heart's  desire. 
So  felt  Glen  also,  as  if  what  he  craved  and  needed 
were  being  made  up  to  him. 

It  was  on  the  fourth  day  that  he  heard  a  voice 
say, — 

"  Poor  Glen  !  " 

"  But  he  is  vastly  better,"  John  corrected 
quickly. 

"  Oh  yes,  better.  He  will  soon  be  well.  What 
I  was  thinking  of  is  that  he  needs  such  constant  care. 
I  feel  as  if  I  should  like  to  watch  over  him  always." 

"  You  are  so  good,"  John  murmured. 

"  However,  it  is  the  last  thing  he  would  want." 

"  No,  indeed.  He  was  always  used  to  a  woman's 
ministrations  until  my  mother's  death." 

"  Why  does  n't  he  marry  ?  " 

"  Why  do  not  all  men  marry  ?  "  John  inquired. 

"  You  know  very  well,  I  presume,  why  you  your 
self  do  not  marry." 

"  I !  "  John  exclaimed.  "  Pray  tell  me  if  you 
know  the  reason.  It  has  always  puzzled  me." 

"  I  used  to  give  you  credit  for  sincerity." 

John  said  hesitatingly  that  he  was  sorry  to  have 
forfeited  the  other's  good  opinion. 

"  Don't  pay  me  false  and  meaningless  compli 
ments." 

"  Do  I,  now  ?  " 


GLEN'S  STRANGE  EXPERIENCE.  109 

"You  pretend  to  care  about  my  good  opin 
ion." 

"  I  do  very  much." 

"  Yet  your  whole  mode  of  action  contradicts 
your  words.  You  have  paid  me  the  compliment  of 
running  away  from  me  ever  since  I  was  twenty 
years  old." 

John  exclaimed,  with  startled  apprehension, 
"  What  was  that  sound  ?  "  He  darted  towards  the 
bed,  and  gazed  into  the  pale,  placid  face  of  the 
sick  man. 

"  He  is  awake,"  the  nurse  said.  "  I  wished  him 
to  wake  up.  It  is  time  for  his  beef  tea." 

What  Haliburton  had  heard  had  been  an  irresist 
ible  chuckle  of  amusement.  Curiosity  had  finally 
overmastered  Glen's  attitude  of  serene  receptivity, 
and  he  had  opened  his  eyes.  He  had  been  so  certain 
that  Constance  Bertini  was  his  nurse  ;  in  the  most 
trifling  ministration  to  his  comfort  there  had  been 
a  suavity,  a  charm  ;  in  each  sip  of  broth  or  milk 
there  had  been  a  singular  potency.  Only  Constance 
could  do  things  in  that  divine  way.  There  had 
been  a  quiet  bliss  in  lying  there,  irresponsible, 
blind,  deaf,  accepting  renovation  from  her  good 
ness  and  bounty.  However,  the  words  and  voice  of 
the  unknown  had  been  far  from  suggesting  Con 
stance.  His  illusions  were  now  dispelled.  It  was 
not  Constance,  it  was  not  even  the  zealous  Kitty 
who  was  adjusting  his  pillows  and  offering  nourish 
ment.  It  was  just  Sue  Darrow.  Nevertheless,  the 
sight  of  John  taken  to  task  by  Miss  Darrow  for 


110  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

his  long  series  of  omissions  towards  her  and  the 
rest  of  the  sex  he  pretended  to  honor  was  a  won 
derful  fillip.  Glen  found  life  worth  living  011  the 
instant. 

He  did  not,  however,  rub  the  bloom  off  his  con 
valescence  by  confessing  to  be  restored  on  the 
instant.  He  had  a  horror  of  sensation,  of  being 
obliged  to  converse,  of  having  to  be  grateful  and 
appreciative.  Cousin  Sue  as  a  nurse  was  ador 
able.  He  rested  in  her  care  as  in  his  mother's 
arms,  but  the  moment  he  was  ready  to  open  his 
eyes  and  see  and  his  ears  and  hear,  he  knew  with  a 
shiver  of  dread  she  would  be  in  earnest  about  some 
thing.  She  would  n't  let  him  drift ;  she  could  n't, 
to  save  her  life,  let  anybody  drift.  He  could  hear 
her  in  the  far  reaches  of  the  house  instructing  Dil- 
sey  and  the  cook,  explaining  the  whys  and  where 
fores,  —  why  coffee  and  tea  should  not  be  boiled ; 
the  effect  of  tannin  on  the  system  ;  the  absolute 
necessity  of  freeing  the  broth  from  fat ;  the  dangers 
attending  fresh  bread.  John  had  given  up  all  his 
freedom,  —  as  it  were,  made  it  up  into  a  parcel  and 
handed  it  over  to  Miss  Darrow.  She  said  she 
thought  coffee  disagreed  with  him.  He  renounced 
coffee.  She  did  not  approve  of  tobacco.  He 
smoked  no  more.  He  obediently  ate,  drank,  sat, 
walked,  slept,  and  waked  exactly  as  she  directed. 

One  evening  after  Miss  Darrow  had  gone  to  her 
own  house  to  sleep,  Glen  felt  like  talking. 

"  Oh,  John,"  he  said,  "  Sue  has  been  so  good  to 
me." 


GLEN'S  STEANGE  EXPERIENCE.  Ill 

Haliburton  nodded. 

"  I  was  never  taken  such  good  care  of  in  all  my 
life,"  Glen  pursued. 

"  I  know,"  Haliburton  returned  rather  ruefully. 

"  She  is  the  most  perfect  nurse,  John,"  Glen 
went  on. 

"  She  has  had  the  training,"  Haliburton  an 
swered  dryly.  "  I  suppose  it 's  simply  a  matter  of 
scientific  training." 

"  Possibly.  One  has  the  notion  that  all  nice 
women  are  good  nurses,  but  I  really  suppose  that 
Conny  would  be  a  bungler  compared  to  Sue." 

Haliburton  almost  snorted  in  his  indignation. 

"  But  you  don't  know  the  difference,  John," 
Glen  insisted.  "  Sue  has  the  most  delicious  touch, 

—  not  only  has  a  touch  that  goes  right  to  the  spot 
and  seems  to  cure,  but  also  takes  away  your  trou 
ble  of  mind  and  soul." 

"  I  can  see  that  she  understands  it  all."  John's 
concession  was  of  the  driest  description. 

"  I  wish  you  would  pretend  to  have  a  headache, 
John,"  Glen  said,  "  just  to  find  out  what  good  care 
she  will  take  of  you." 

"  No,  thanks." 

"  I  hope,"  Glen  murmured,  his  eyelids  just 
parted  so  that  he  could  get  a  glimpse  of  John's  face, 

—  "I  can't  help  thinking  that  I  do  hope  you  will 
marry  Sue." 

"  Good  God !  "  ejaculated  Haliburton,  not  im 
piously,  but  with  all  the  solemnity  of  an  invocation. 
"  She  would  make  you  the  most  perfect  wife." 


112  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

"  Look  here,  Glen,  I  don't  wish  to  go  against 
your  wishes  in  any  way  to  retard  your  recovery, 
but  you  may  as  well  understand  once  for  all  that  I 
shall  never  marry  Miss  Darrovv." 

"  But  after  —  after  all  this  —  after  —  I  mean  I 
don't  exactly  see  how  you  can  help  it  now." 

"  Not  help  it  now  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Here  she  has  been  coming  day  after  day." 

"  Not  to  see  me.  Why  don't  you  marry  her 
yourself  out  of  gratitude  and  appreciation1  ?  " 

"  Oh,  she  cares  nothing  for  me.  It  is  you  she 
values,  John.  She  was  telling  me  to-day  that  she 
considered  you  for  a  man  almost  perfect." 

"  Nonsense,  —  absurd !  " 

"  You  '11  have  to  come  to  it,  John.  Everybody 
picked  her  out  for  you  years  ago,  you  know.  These 
things  settle  themselves  for  us  without  our  own 
will.  I  really  do  consider  that  my  illness  was 
providential  in  bringing  you  together.  Just  ac 
cept  the  fact  as  inevitable,  and  when  you  have 
bolted  it  you  will  confess  that  it  did  you  good. 
This  house  needs  a  mistress." 

Haliburton  abstained  from  speech,  but  in  the 
power  of  expressing  dissent  while  he  remained 
silent  no  man  could  at  this  moment  have  excelled 
him. 

"  If  you  would  like  me  to  break  the  ice  between 
you,"  Glen  was  about  to  suggest,  when  he  saw  a 
gleam  of  something  in  John's  eye  answering  the 
twinkle  in  his  own. 

"  If  you  dare  !  "  said  Haliburton. 


GLEN'S  STRANGE  EXPERIENCE.  113 

Glen,  having  lain  quiescent  for  a  few  days,  was 
suddenly  well.  Miss  Darrow  came  in  one  morning 
and  found  him  up  and  dressed. 

"  I  suppose  this  means  that  I  am  dismissed," 
she  observed,  with  a  sigh. 

"  You  have  been  awfully  good  to  me,  dear  cousin 
Sue." 

"  I  have  enjoyed  coming  over.  I  like  something 
to  do.  There  is  such  a  stimulus  in  the  thought  that 
one  has  some  real  grip  of  life  and  effort." 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done  without 
you." 

"  Oh,  John  would  have  got  a  hospital  nurse," 
said  Miss  Darrow.  "  That  is  the  trouble  with 
being  an  amateur,  —  I  have  robbed  some  profes 
sional  of  three  dollars  a  day." 

"  You  would  n't  take  it  ?  " 

"  If  you  and  John  are  pleased  that  is  all  I  ask 
for." 

"  I  'm  always  an  ungrateful  wretch,  but  John  is 
grateful  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart.  You  know 
his  way  ;  he  may  not  say  as  much  as  others,  but 
he  feels  it,  Sue." 

"  I  like  John  so  much,"  Miss  Darrow  rejoined, 
with  fine  candor.  '  "  I  would  do  almost  anything 
for  him.  I  always  realize  that  he  is  a  shy  man. 
He  does  not  appreciate  himself  ;  he  seems  to  have 
no  idea  what  a  fine,  presentable,  really  clever  and 
attractive  man  he  is." 

"  I  think  he  requires  some  woman  to  bring  him 
out." 


114  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

"Yes,  that  is  it.  He  needs  sympathy,  encour 
agement.  I  know  of  no  one  who  better  deserves 
it.  When  one  considers  the  sort  of  men  who  make 
more  show  in  society"  — 

"  Me,  for  example  ?  " 

"  I  was  n't  alluding  to  you,  Glen.  I  was  think 
ing  how  well  he  looks  sitting  at  the  head  of  his 
own  table." 

"  The  fact  about  it  is,  I  have  always  stood  in  the 
way  of  John's  marrying.  I  dare  say  were  I  to  go 
about  my  business,  as  a  man  should,  he  would  find 
somebody  willing  to  take  him." 

"  You  need  be  no  hindrance  to  his  marrying." 

"  I  'm  always  around  under  foot.  She  might  not 
like  me." 

"  I  '11  answer  for  it,  she  would.  Everybody  likes 
you,  Glen,  whether  or  not  they  approve  of  you. 
But,  speaking  of  John,  it  really  goes  to  my  heart 
that  so  little  should  be  done  for  his  comfort." 
Miss  Darrow's  voice  dropped  to  a  whisper.  "  Now 
those  servants !  I  can't  begin  to  tell  you  what  an 
undertaking  it  has  been  to  get  well-made,  nourish 
ing  dishes  for  you.  I  have  gone  into  the  kitchen  day 
by  day  and  given  an  object-lesson  in  cooking,  as  it 
were,  but  it  was  clear  that  both  Dilsey  and  his  wife 
considered  that  I  was  exceeding  my  privileges.  I 
tried  to  explain  the  processes  of  digestion.  The 
soup  had  been  greasy,  the  fillet  of  beef  had  twice 
been  over-larded.  I  did  actually  hope  they  had  com 
prehended,  but  they  listened  incredulous.  '  Gentle 
folks'  stomachs  seems  to  be  very  queer,'  the  cook 


GLEN'S   STRANGE  EXPERIENCE.  115 

remarked  with  an  offended  air,  as  if  I  had  been 
talking  about  something  improper.  I  confess  I 
hate  to  think  of  John's  being  at  the  mercy  of  that 
woman  with  her  half-skimmed  sonp." 

It  was  a  very  warm  day,  and  Miss  Darrow,  still 
breathing  solicitudes  for  Haliburton,  took  Glen 
into  the  garden,  and  established  him  in  the  sum 
mer-house,  sending  Dilsey  forward  and  back  with 
cushions,  rugs,  and  cups  of  broth. 

"  I  do  sometimes  get  a  little  chance  to  be  really 
useful,"  Miss  Darrow  then  said  complacently,  when 
Glen  lay  back  declaring  that  he  was  sublimely 
comfortable,  "  even  if  I  do  not  accept  a  mission 
and  go  out  on  a  crusade.  You  say  I  have  done 
you  good,  Glen,  but  you  and  John  have  also  done 
me  good.  There  is  not  room  in  my  own  life  for 
my  full  energies  to  take  shape  and  develop.  But, 
just  because  I  love  poppa  and  momma  and  the 
girls,  I  stay  at  home,  a  striking  example  of  the  pow- 
erlessness  of  a  woman  to  escape  from  her  grooves 
without  sufficient  motive.  The  craving  of  the  mod 
ern  man  seems  to  be  to  get  rid  of  the  curse  of  la 
bor.  The  modern  woman  cries  for  more  and  more 
to  do,  —  a  freer  outlet  for  her  energies.  I  can  only 
believe  that  the  logical  outcome  of  the  present 
transition  lies  in  the  marriage  of  the  contraries. 
Man  is  to  lay  down  the  initiative,  woman  is  to  as- 
•sume  the  initiative.  It  will  be  just  a  little  curious 
if,  a  hundred  years  from  now  " 

Miss  Darrow  paused,  —  not  that  her  speculations 
were  exhausted,  for  such  speculations  are  practi- 


116  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

cally  inexhaustible.  But  it  was  clear  that  Glen,  per 
haps  over-braced  by  such  strong1  tonics,  had  fallen 
asleep,  and  to  go  on  discoursing  to  a  convalescent 
whom  she  had  wooed  to  slumber  would  have  con 
tradicted  her  hygienic  methods  and  theories.  She 
disposed  of  her  unused  cushions  in  a  way  to  pro 
mote  his  comfort  if  he  moved.  She  fenced  off  a 
possible  draught  with  the  screen.  She  drew  the 
little  table,  with  its  wine  jelly  and  biscuits,  nearer 
to  his  hand,  then,  with  an  appreciative  glance  at 
his  fine  Vandyck  contours  and  saying  to  herself, 
"  Glen  is  just  too  absurdly  good-looking,"  she  walked 
through  the  garden,  with  its  beds  of  mignonette, 
heliotropes,  roses,  and  carnations,  deciding  that 
there  were  too  many  fragrant  flowers  to  be  whole 
some,  turned  into  the  house,  gave  a  few  final  capable 
directions,  and  went  on  her  useful  way. 

Whether  or  no  Glen  had  really  fallen  asleep 
while  she  talked,  no  sooner  had  she  left  him  than 
he  was  wide  awake.  The  interval  of  repose  when  he 
had  shrunk  from  the  idea  of  effort,  struggle,  even 
thought,  was  over.  Life  was  beginning  again  for 
him.  He  lay  looking  into  the  garden  flooded  with 
light,  where  all  the  flowers  were  wide  open,  drinking 
in  the  sunshine,  harboring  bees  that  crept  in  and 
out  rustling  and  droning ;  offering  their  sweets  as 
well  to  the  humming-birds  that  poised  themselves 
and  seemed  to  vibrate  before  the  open  chalices. 
He  listened  to  the  drip  of  the  little  fountain.  He 
reached  out  his  hand  for  the  hour-glass  and  turned 
it.  He  wanted  the  full  realization  of  this  sweet, 


GLEN'S  STRANGE  EXPERIENCE.  117 

idle  hour.  Again  and  again  lie  turned  and  gazed 
at  the  wall,  above  which  a  spray  of  the  pink  flowers 
of  the  oleander  was  tossed  up  against  the  blue  of 
the  sky. 

He  felt  exquisitely  happy.  After  all,  let  a  man 
be  what  sort  of  failure  he  may,  still  these  shows  of 
things  penetrating  his  imagination  make  him  feel 
that  he  is  fed  even  when  he  has  neither  meat  nor 
wine  nor  bread.  His  eyes  rested  on  the  cool  color 
of  the  gray  stone  gables  ;  the  tops  of  the  trees 
swaying  against  the  azure  tranquilized  him.  "What 
was  the  wonder  of  an  arabesque  of  flowers  and 
foliage,  the  arch  of  a  turret,  the  sudden  trick  of 
light  that  transfigured  the  leaves  of  a  white  birch 
as  they  turned  in  the  breeze  ?  Once  upon  a  time 
Glen  would  have  felt  that  it  was  the  duty  of  an 
artist  to  fix  these  fleeting  effects  in  words  ;  he  had 
loved  to  seize  upon  such  impressions,  refining  npon 
them  endlessly,  touching  and  retouching,  to  be  used 
at  need  as  a  bit  of  background  or  vivid  color.  His 
ideal  had  been  not  only  to  enjoy  but  to  translate 
every  kindling  experience  into  something  that 
could  move  others.  But  all  that  world  of  aspira 
tion,  of  effort,  seemed  afar  off.  He  had  long  since 
given  it  up  as  useless.  The  divine  spark  allotted 
to  Glen  had  burned  only  himself. 

A  flock  of  pigeons  flew  across  the  open  space  of 
sky,  their  snow-white  throats  and  wings  glistening 
in  the  sunlight.  It  was  so  beautiful  that  something 
clutched 'at  his  heart.  He  closed  his  eyes. 

What  he  was  thinking  of  was  Teddy  D arrow's 


118  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

talk.  Oh,  if  he,  Glen,  could  but  begin  over  again 
like  Teddy,  with  a  healthy  mind  in  a  sound  body  ; 
choose  his  career  ;  arrange  the  conditions  which 
should  make  it  prosperous ;  spend  his  powers  in 
success ;  be  a  part  of  the  great  social  movement, 
instead  of  suffering  this  freezing  isolation  —  this 
dismal  sense  of  failure  ! 

It  was  singular  how  the  thought  of  Teddy  stung 
him.  The  yoiing  fellow's  effrontery  in  being  in  love 
with  Kitty,  and,  with  magnificent  leisure  of  proced 
ure,  planning  to  marry  her  when  the  right  time 
came,  made  him  conscious  of  an  inarticulate  smoul 
dering  resentment,  lie  could  not  define  whether 
it  was  a  dog-in-the-manger  feeling  against  Teddy, 
or  against  all  the  world  of  strong,  lucky  people. 

His  eyes  still  fast  shut,  he  became  conscious  that 
somebody  was  approaching  him.  It  was  perhaps 
Miss  Darrow  returning ;  or  Dilsey,  with  a  cup  of 
bouillon,  of  which  Glen's  very  soul  was  sick.  He 
did  not  take  the  trouble  to  open  his  eyes.  He  per 
ceived  that  the  presence  lingered.  He  simulated 
deep  slumber.  The  intruder  drew  closer.  He 
could  hear  its  quick  breathing.  Soft  as  thistle 
down,  a  touch  alighted  on  his  hair  ;  something  fra 
grant  and  warm  grazed  his  ear.  Surely  that  was 
not  Sue  Darrow  kissing  him  !  He  lay  still  for  an 
apparently  endless  moment,  then  coughed,  sighed, 
changed  his  position  and  opened  his  eyes  upon  the 
lovely,  flushed  face  of  the  girl  who  was  kneeling 
beside  him. 

"  Why,  Kitty  !  "  he  murmured. 


GLEN'S  STRANGE  EXPERIENCE,  119 

"I  am  afraid  I  waked  you  up,"  she  said  re 
morsefully. 

"Was  I  asleep?" 

"  Oh  yes,  I  am  sure  you  were  sleeping  soundly. 
You  were  not  merely  pretending  to  be  asleep,  cousin 
Glen  ?  "  This  with  an  anxious  note  in  her  voice. 

"  Why  should  I  pretend  to  be  asleep  ?  Here  I 
have  been  stretched  out  waiting  for  visitors  to  come 
and  congratulate  me  upon  my  recovery.  Not  even 
a  cat  has  been  near  me." 

"  What  a  shame  !  Here  I  am.  I  have  been 
over  two  or  three  times  a  day  to  inquire." 

"  Actually  ?  " 

"Did  they  not  tell  you?     Mamma  came  also." 

"  She  is  very  kind.  You  are  very  kind.  Every 
body  has  been  so  kind  that  I  should  be  sick  to 
death  of  kindness  if  I  had  a  grain  of  spirit.  But 
I  have  not." 

"  Are  you  glad  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  I  prefer  you  to  a  cat,  certainly.  Don't  move. 
Stay  just  where  you  are,  Kitty.  I  like  to  look  at 
you.  That  wide-brimmed  hat  makes  a  good  back 
ground  for  your  face." 

"  I  have  brought  you  some  cherries." 

She  lifted  the  leaves  from  the  basket  on  her 
arm  and  showed  him  the  luscious  fruit. 

"  Presently,"  he  returned. 

He  hated  to  have  her  change  her  position.     He 

.  seemed  suddenly  to  have  discovered  that  she  was 

marvelously  pretty.     Her  skin,  although  dark,  was 

soft,  and  smooth  as  ivory ;  her  lips  were  blooming, 


120  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

her  teeth  small,  even,  white.  And,  good  heavens  ! 
he  actually  believed  that  she  had  kissed  him  of  her 
own  free  will.  At  this  conviction  there  now  came 
a  quick  leap  of  his  blood  which  the  caress  itself 
had  not  stirred.  He  had  half  a  mind  to  kiss  her 
back.  Was  it  a  childish  freak  or  some  experi 
mental  coquettish  jugglery? 

"  You  are  really  better,  cousin  Glen  ?  "  she  said 
tremulously. 

"  Really  better.  Did  you  actually  pity  a  poor, 
sick  fellow  ?  " 

"Pity!  It  was  dreadful  to  me."  She  looked 
at  him  with  eyes  running  over  with  tears ;  her  lips 
quivered.  "  The  very  stones  seemed  to  cry  out 
that  you  were  suffering.  If  I  could  have  come  and 
nursed  you  instead  of  cousin  Sue  !  But  mamma 
said  that  she  and  I  would  only  be  in  the  way." 

"Did  Conny  care  that  I  was  ill?  " 

"  Mamma  was  very  sorry.  Still,  she  was  not  as 
much  alarmed  as  I  was.  She  said  you  had  prob 
ably  taken  cold  ;  that  very  likely  after  all  you 
did  not  suffer  ;  that  these  attacks  belonged  to  your 
temperament." 

"  Hang  my  temperament !  hang  my  sufferings  ! ' 
said  Glen.  "  Why  do  you  come  and  say  these 
things  to  me  ?  Half  an  hour  ago  I  was  perfectly 
happy.  I  cared  nothing  for  anything  or  anybod}T." 

"Shall  I  go  away?" 

"  No ;  stay." 

"  If  you  care  for  nothing  and  nobody,  you  will 
not  mind  me." 


GLEN'S  STRANGE  EXPERIENCE.          121 

"  No."  They  smiled  at  each  other.  "  Let  me 
see,"  he  said  :  "  how  old  are  you,  Kitty  ?  " 

"  I  was  eighteen  the  24th  of  May." 

"  So  old  ?  Why,  some  of  these  days  you  will  be 
grown  up." 

"  I  am  taller  than  mamma  now." 

"  That  is  not  being  grown  up.  The  grapes  fill 
out  by  July  or  August,  but  it  is  long  after  that 
they  are  sweet." 

Kitty  gave  a  little  shrug.  "  I  would  rather  be 
a  sour  grape  than  a  sweet  ripe  one,  which  some 
body  picks  and  eats,  and  soon  makes  an  end  of." 

"  Exactly.  A  sour  grape  is  safe.  It  may  hang 
as  long  and  as  high  as  it  chooses.  Nobody  wants  it. 
How  about  those  cherries  ?  I  like  ripe  cherries." 

She  piled  the  richest  of  the  fruit  on  an  empty 
plate  which  lay  on  the  little  table,  and  set  them 
within  his  reach.  Kitty's  vanity,  however,  was  not 
entirely  satisfied  by  the  characterization  of  herself 
as  a  sour,  green  grape. 

"Before  we  came  away  from  Florence,"  she 
now  remarked  in  a  clear,  deliberate  voice,  "  some 
months  before  we  came  away,  Lucia  —  Lucia  was 
our  cook  —  said  to  mamma  that  the  signorina  was 
quite  grown  up  now ;  soon  there  would  be  a  hus 
band  coming  for  her." 

"  Who  might  the  signorina  be  ?" 

"  I  am  the  signorina." 

"  Good  gracious  !  You  the  signorina  !  What 
iid  the  signora  marchesa  say  to  that  ?  " 

"That  husbands  are  like  a  good  year  for  the 


122  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

figs  and  olives,  —  it  comes  or  it  does  not  come. 
One  need  never  think  twice  about  it." 

Glen  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter.  "  Good  for 
Conny !  I  should  like  to  box  Lucia's  ears.  A 
child  like  you  ought  never  to  have  heard  the  word 
husband." 

"My  friend  Bianca  Floriani  was  married  last 
Easter  to  a  Sicilian  count." 

"  So  you  think  it  would  be  a  fine  thing  to  be 
married  to  a  Sicilian  count  ?  " 

"  Oh,  not  in  the  least.  I  saw  his  picture.  He 
was  excessively  ugly,  with  a  large  nose  and  no 
chin." 

Glen  began  to  show  that  he  was  bored.  A 
frown  appeared  between  his  brows. 

"  Don't  talk  about  such  subjects,"  he  said  with- 
eringly.  "  For  a  few  minutes  you  charmed  me." 

She  looked  at  him  with  an  air  of  naive  delight. 
"  I  really  charmed  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  sick  of  marrying  and  giving  in  marriage," 
Glen  said  petulantly.  "  They  say  there  is  nothing 
of  the  sort  in  heaven,  and  I  am  homesick  for  such 
a  resting-place." 

"  I  thought  what  made  heaven  was  loving  and 
being  loved  again." 

"  There  is  no  such  thing  in  the  universe.  At 
any  rate,  nobody  ever  loved  me  back  again.  If  I 
were  to  begin  my  life  anew,  I  would  love  no  one. 

'  To  lose  good  nights  that  might  be  better  spent, 
To  waste  long  days  in  pensive  discontent, 
To  speed  to-day,  to  be  put  back  to-morrow, 
To  feed  on  hope,  and  pine  with  fear  and  sorrow '  - 


GLEN'S  STRANGE  EXPERIENCE.  123 

I  have  had  enough  of  it  all.  Kitty,  tell  me  you 
too  will  forswear  it  all." 

"  Forswear  loving  people  !  "  Kitty  repeated, 
aghast.  "  I  could  not  help  it.  It  seems  to  me 
there  is  nothing  else  worth  doing  in  the  world." 

"  There  is  everything  else  to  do.  Love,  senti 
ment,  passion,  —  they  are  simply  the  substitutes  for 
action,  energy,  healthy,  unspoiled  feeling.  I  wash 
my  hands  of  it  all  henceforth.  I  am  going  to  ex 
cavate  a  buried  city,  dig  up  a  Greek  warrior  or  a 
marble  Venus,  study  art  in  Japan,  or  become  an 
Armenian  and  throw  off  the  Turkish  yoke.  At 
any  rate,  I  will  not  speak  to  one  of  your  sweet,  tan 
talizing  sex  until  I  am  sixty  years  old." 

"  Not  to  mamma  ?  " 

"  She  would  like  nothing  better." 

"  Not  to  me  ?  " 

"  Particularly  not  to  you." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  you  are  young ;  because  you  have  a 
destiny  to  accomplish  ;  because  you  can't  be  what 
I  dream  you  to  be." 

"  What  do  you  dream  rne  to  be,  cousin  Glen  ?  " 

"  It 's  no  use  telling  you." 

"  I  would  do  anything  to  be  what  you  dream  me 
to  be." 

"  No  use,  —  you  can't.  Just  now,  for  example,  I 
liked  you,  —  I  quite  liked  you.  You  were  pretty 
to  look  at,  rather  charming  to  listen  to.  Then  all 
at  once,  like  the  green  fruit  you  are,  you  put  my 
teeth  011  edge." 


124  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

"Oh,  cousin  Glen  !     Tell  me  how." 

"  I  was  idealizing  a  sweet  little  girl  with  the 
bloom  on  her  ideas,  when  suddenly  she  assumed 
the  tone  of  a  woman." 

"  The  tone  of  a  woman  ?  " 

"  Talked  about  a  husband.  I  tell  you,  Kitty,  it 
bored  me  inexpressibly." 

Kitty  did  not  try  to  parry  his  derisive  glance. 
She  could  not  meet  it.  Her  eyelids  shut  down. 
She  flushed  crimson,  sprang  up,  darted  across  the 
garden,  and  flung  herself  at  full  length  on  the  turf, 
pulling  up  handfuls  of  grass  like  an  angry  child. 

Glen's  eyes  followed  her.  He,  too,  rose,  rolled  a 
cigarette,  lighted  it,  walked  towards  the  fountain, 
and  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  basin.  He  was 
amused,  yet  a  little  disturbed  at  the  effect  of  his 
petulant  words.  The  thought  of  her  caress  still 
gave  him  a  warm,  heady  feeling.  For  a  moment 
his  instinct  had  sounded  her  through,  and  he  had 
said  to  himself,  "  She  is  downright  fond  of  me.  I 
could  cut  Teddy  Darrow  out  if  I  were  to  raise  my 
finger."  His  whole  being  had  been  vitalized  by 
a  grateful  impulse,  and  he  had  turned  rough  and 
churlish  to  find  that  the  commonplace  idea  of  a 
husband  was  running  in  her  head.  He  could  only 
think  of  Teddy. 

"  Kitty  !  "  he  called,  "  Kitty  !  " 

There  was  no  answer.  Again,  in  a  wheedling 
tone,  — 

"  Kitty  !  "  After  a  pause,  "  This  sort  of  agita 
tion  is  not  £ood  for  a  sick  man." 


GLEN'S  STRANGE  EXPERIENCE.  125 

She  rose  to  her  feet,  stood  and  met  his  glance, 
her  splendid  eyes  and  her  haughty  brows  fixed 
upon  him  with  a  new  expression. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  she  asked  in  a  dull,  suffering 
voice. 

"  Come  back,  come  back,  and  be  a  delightful 
little  cousin." 

"  You  said  I  bored  you." 

"  I  was  generalizing  broadly.  What  I  meant 
was,  that  when  a  girl  begins  to  talk  about  falling 
in  love  with  somebody  besides  himself  it  bores  a 
man  inexpressibly." 

Kitty  listened  critically  to  this  explanation,  with 
her  head  a  little  on  one  side  as  if  testing  its  plausi 
bility. 

"  You  see,  Caterina  mia"  Glen  pursued  blandly, 
"  every  man  is  at  heart  a  Turk.  He  would  prefer 
to  put  every  woman  he  admires  under  a  veil  and 
behind  a  grating." 

She  listened,  evidently  flattered. 

"  And  only  see  her  himself  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  He  could  use  his  discretion.  He  would  say  to 
•her,  '  Be  happy,  tend  thy  flowers,  be  tended  by 
my  blessing.'  Never  let  your  fancy  dwell  upon  any 
other  man,  except,  of  course  " 

She  was  following  his  words  so  eagerly,  with  such 
evident  belief  in  his  seriousness,  that  he  broke  off 
and  laughed. 

"  It  is  all  of  no  use,  however,"  he  now  observed 
in  a  different  tone.  "  Girls  like  you  have  been 
shut  up  in  tall  towers,  hidden  in  caverns,  offered  to 


126  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

monsters,  but  the  irrepressible  lover  has  always  ap 
peared  at  the  wrong  moment,  —  scaled  fortresses, 
penetrated  bolts  and  bars,  opened  castle-keeps,  slain 
devouring  dragons." 

She  had  been  walking  slowly  towards  him,  along 
the  paths  between  the  beds  of  mignonette  and 
pinks,  as  he .  spoke.  Her  lowered  eyelids  let  the 
glimmer  of  a  smile  shine  through ;  her  flexible 
scarlet  lips  showed  a  glimpse  of  her  white,  even 
teeth.  She  now  seated  herself  on  the  other  side  of 
the  marble  basin  from  Glen. 

"  So  you  would  like  to  marry  a  Sicilian  count, 
all  nose  and  no  chin?  "  he  said  roguishly. 

"  Never !  "  she  returned,  with  intense  disdain. 

"  How  do  you  happen  to  know  your  own  mind 
so  well?  Has  the  irrepressible  lover  arrived?  "  he 
inquired  blandly. 

She  nodded,  then,  as  if  dreading  misconception, 
added,  — 

"That  is,  I  —  I"- 

"  You  have  him  in  your  mind's  eye,  I  suppose. 
Capital  place  for  a  lover.  Keep  him  there  by  all 
means.  He  is  sure  not  to  be  half  good  enough  for. 

you." 

"  All  I  ask  is  that  he  might  consider  ine  good 
enough  to  tread  on,"  she  murmured  in  a  trem 
bling  voice ;  her  face  was  suffused  with  color,  her 
eyes  brimming  with  tears.  "  He  does  tread  on 
me ;  he  does  not  care  about  me  ;  he  despises  me." 

Glen's  face  showed  a  quickening  of  apprehen 
sion. 


GLEN'S   STRANGE  EXPERIENCE.  127 

"  Good  gracious,  what  are  you  talking  about  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  You  asked  me,"  she  replied  deprecatingly. 

"  You  are  as  good  as  a  novel,"  Glen  said  indif 
ferently.  "  I  wondered  how  I  was  to  get  through 
the  morning."  He  looked  at  his  watch.  "  Here 
we  are,  —  it  's  one  o'clock." 

"  Oh,"  cried  Kitty,  springing  up,  "  I  forgot,  — 
I  quite  forgot." 

"  Forgot  what  ?" 

"  Mamma  sent  me  over  to  ask  you  to  come  to 
luncheon.  The  pony-carriage  was  to  follow  at  one 
o'clock.  Mr.  Haliburton  stopped  on  his  way  to 
the  train,  and  said  that  he  really  thought  you  were 
well  enough  to  have  a  little  society." 

"  I  'm  perfectly  well ;  you  have  cured  me,  Kitty." 

"  And  you  will  come  ?  " 

"  I  'm  charmed  to  come." 

When  she  was  driving  him  over  to  Waldstein 
Glen  said  mischievously,  — 

"  By  the  way,  Kitty,  you  did  n't  tell  me  what 
sort  of  a  fellow  he  was." 

"Rather  nice,"  she  returned  drolly. 

"  Does  he  reciprocate  your  affection  ?  " 

"Not  one  bit." 

"  That  is  abominable." 

"  No,  it  is  not.  If  he  liked  me  as  well  as  I  like 
him,  I  should  simply  die.  I  could  n't  live  through 
it.  The  very  thought  of  it  makes  me  cold." 

She  alternately  flushed  and  paled. 

"  Don't  care  for  anybody  like  that !  "   he  ex- 


128  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

claimed.  "  Nobody  is  worth  it.  It  means  suffer 
ing  days  and  nights,  —  agonies  of  loneliness,  of 
jealousy." 

"  I  know  it." 

"  It  draws  away  good,  nourishing  blood  that  sus 
tains  life,  and  puts  poison  in  its  place." 

"  I  know  it." 

He  was  startled  by  the  melancholy  fire  of  her 
eyes. 

"  And  besides,"  he  said,  "  the  good-for-nothing, 
ungrateful  wretch  will  presently  be  so  conceited  he 
will  believe  he  was  born  so  and  can't  help  it." 


CHAPTER  X. 

PLACE   AUX   DAMES. 

ARRIVED  at  Waldstein,  Glen  was  in  quite  an 
other  atmosphere.  He  was  not  the  only  visitor. 
Mrs.  Darrow  and  Agatha  had  dropped  in,  and  had 
been  asked  to  stay  to  luncheon.  Mrs.  Darrow  was 
glad  to  see  Glen,  regarding  him  as  the  outward 
and  visible  sign  of  her  daughter's  achievement. 
Sue  had  snatched  him,  if  not  from  the  grave,  from 
a  dangerous  condition.  What  was  more,  Sue  had 
put  John  Haliburton's  household  to  rights.  Any 
thing  so  old-fashioned,  so  wrong-headed  as  the 
ways  of  that  household,  had  not  before  met  the 
up-to-date  observation  of  the  Darrows.  The  igno 
rance,  the  prejudice,  the  lack  of  accurate,  scientific 
knowledge  on  the  part  of  Dilsey  and  the  cook,  had 
furnished  a  fund  of  anecdote.  Glen  wished  with 
all  his  heart  he  had  stayed  in  the  dear,  old-fashioned 
garden  talking  to  Kitty.  Mrs.  Darrow  made  his 
cup  run  over.  He  could  amuse  himself  a  good 
deal  with  Gatty  in  the  absence  of  the  rest  of  the 
family,  but  at  this  moment  he  frankly  hated  them 
all. 

Constance  was  Constance,  however.  She  gave 
him  a  comfortable  armchair  by  her  side.  She  had 


130  THE  EEVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

prepared  two  or  three  delightful  dishes  for  him,  — 
just  the  dishes  he  craved,  —  and  now  set  Kitty  to 
spreading  brown  bread  with  butter  fresh  from  the 
churn.  Kitty,  putting  all  her  heart  and  soul  into 
the  task,  looked  about  fourteen  years  old,  and 
Glen's  belief  in  her  ardent  preference  for  him 
self  or  anything  save  the  bread  and  butter  waned. 

"  Sue  says,"  Mrs.  Darrow  proceeded,  "  that  in 
John  Haliburton  we  recognize  the  defect  of  his 
qualities.  He  has  walked  all  his  life  in  the  narrow 
lighted  circle  which  his  mother  appointed  for  her 
and  for  himself,  and  he  does  not  even  venture  to  be 
lieve  in  the  possibility  of  a  world  outside.  Dilsey 
walked  behind,  drinking  in  every  word  they  uttered. 
Anything  Mrs.  Haliburton  ever  said  or  did  still 
remains  the  law  of  the  household." 

"  That  is  what  I  like,"  said  Richard  Amory. 

"  But,  dear  cousin  Richard,  in  the  matter  of 
beef  tea,  for  example  "  — 

In  the  matter  of  beef  tea,  in  particular,  Richard 
Amory  fully  believed  Lucy  Haliburton's  way  was 
certain  to  have  been  the  right  way.  Why  not, 
when  Lucy  Haliburton  must  have  learned  it  from 
Sarah  Ambury  ?  It  was  an  admitted  fact  for  miles 
around  that  Sarah  Ambury  had  always  done  every 
thing  better  than  her  neighbors. 

"  Very  likely,"  Mrs.  Darrow  conceded.  "  Be 
cause  in  those  old  days,  when  everybody  was  more 
or  less  ignorant,  superior  natural  faculty,  supple 
mented  by  tradition,  gave  certain  women  in  each 
community  a  wonderful  effectiveness  which  was 


PLACE  AUX  DAMES.  131 

widely  recognized.  They  did  the  best  they  could, 
—  so  much  better  than  their  neighbors  that  it  was 
then  believed  they  did  the  best  that  could  be  done. 
I  do  not  wish  to  underrate  the  superior  women  of  a 
past  generation.  They  did  their  best,  but  our  own 
best  is  so  far  beyond  their  highest  possible,  that 
there  can  be  no  comparison." 

"  Oh,  the  comfort  of  knowing  exactly  how  to  do 
everything  in  the  very  best  way,"  said  Gatty. 

Glen,  who  had  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  a  wonder 
ful  arrangement  of  the  flowers  of  the  catalpa  in  the 
centre  of  the  table,  glanced  at  Agatha  as  if  he  had 
almost  made  up  his  mind  to  speak,  but  he  changed 
his  intention  and  kept  silent. 

"  Every  Friday  morning  at  a  quarter  past  nine," 
said  Mrs.  Darrow,  "  I  sit  down  at  my  desk  and 
compose  my  bills  of  fare  for  the  coming  week. 
Sunday's  dinner  makes  two  breakfasts  and  one 
luncheon.  The  evolution  of  cold  turkey  into  cro 
quettes  and  patties  may  be  as  scientifically  inter 
esting  as  the  differentiations  in  chrysanthemums 
and  geraniums  under  treatment." 

"  What  excessive  premeditation,"  said  Con 
stance.  " '  Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil 
thereof,'  is  the  motto  of  bad  housekeepers  like 
me." 

"  I  account  for  every  egg,"  Mrs.  Darrow  pro 
ceeded  triumphantly.  "Not  only  for  every  egg, 
but  for  each  half  of  an  egg,  —  for  the  white  that 
makes  a  meringue  has  given  its  yolk  to  one  of  the 
entrees." 


132  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

"  If,"  Kitty,  as  usual  atliirst  for  information,  now 
suggested,  "  Gatty  were  to  ask  for  an  egg  beaten 
up  in  sherry  between  meals,  would  it  upset  all  the 
whole  week's  calculations  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  allow  a  margin,"  Mrs.  Darrow  cheer 
fully  rejoined.  "  Even  in  the  most  careful  house 
keeping  there  are  exigencies  and  emergencies." 

"  Accidents  happen  in  the  best  educated  fam 
ilies,"  Glen,  with  his  e}res  fixed  on  the  ceiling, 
murmured  under  his  breath,  "  for  they  have  hap 
pened  in  mine." 

Mrs.  Darrow,  in  the  joy  of  her  subject,  went  on 
describing  her  management  of  her  soup-kettle. 

"  A  regular  witch's  caldron,"  mused  Glen.  "I 
shall  never  dare  eat  soup  in  your  house  again." 

The  scoffing  critic  was  not  listened  to.  Mrs. 
Darrow  had  more  in  her  mind  than  merely  adorning 
the  luncheon  with  casual  conversation.  She  was 
enlightening  Constance,  who,  poor  thing,  had  been 
out  of  the  world's  grand  sweep  of  movement  so 
long,  she  needed  to  be  given  the  requisite  push. 
The  Darrows  were  all  exercised  on  the  subject  of 
Kitty,  only  half -educated,  left  to  run  wild,  simply 
to  do  what  she  chose  to  do,  instead  of  taking  hold 
of  life  with  a  grip,  and  getting  out  of  it  what  she 
ought  to  have. 

"  Of  course,"  Mrs.  Darrow  went  on,  fluent,  un 
hesitating,  "  there  are  people  who  refuse  to  see  in 
the  remarkable  process  of  evolution  going  on  before 
their  eyes  anything  natural,  regular,  inevitable. 
They  may  prefer  to  believe  that  the  phenomenon 


PLACE  AUX  DAMES.  133 

presented  in  modern  society  of  woman's  taking  a 
foremost  place,  infusing  new  spirit  into  old  ideas 
of  reform,  and  initiating  new  ones,  is  merely  acci 
dental,  —  the  result  of  some  hand-to-mouth  exigency 
met  by  spasmodic  effort.  But  I  am  not  one  of 
those  who  are  blind.  I  have  not  permitted  my 
daughters  to  grow  up  blindly.  They  have  to  meet 
the  emergency,  and  I  have  tried  to  prepare  them 
to  grapple  with  its  problems  and  solve  them." 

"  You  take  my  breath  away !  "  Constance  ex 
claimed.  "  Is  there  a  crisis?  " 

"  Thee  knows,  Constance,  there  is  always  a  crisis 
in  the  newspapers,"  said  Richard  Amory. 

"It  is  of  your  daughter  I  am  thinking.  The 
conditions  for  unlimited  expansion  of  her  duties, 
rights,  privileges,  exist  already.  Do  not  retard  her 
progress." 

"  Give  her  a  soup-kettle,"  said  Glen  implor 
ingly. 

Constance,  as  if  to  reassure  herself,  reached  out 
her  hand  to  Kitty.  They  both  smiled,  although 
the  young  girl  looked  slightly  puzzled. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  her  ?  "  Mrs. 
Darrow  demanded,  pressing  the  matter  home  like 
the  voice  of  conscience. 

"  Conny's  superiority  to  the  rest  of  mankind 
consists  in  her  not  doing,"  said  Glen. 

"  I  am  doing  all  I  know  how  to  do  with  her," 
answered  Constance.  "  She  is  my  child,  —  I  am 
her  mother.  We  have  unlimited  comfort  in  each 
other." 


134  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

"  I  denied  myself  all  that,"  said  Mrs.  Darrow. 
"  I  said  to  each  of  my  three  girls :  '  You  have 
your  own  life  to  live.  I  want  you  to  study  your 
own  needs.  Somehow  you  have  to  breathe,  eat, 
digest,  enjoy,  and  suffer  for  yourself.  I  am  here 
simply  to  help  your  development.' ' 

"I  should  hate  to  have  Kitty  sit  down  and 
study  herself.  I  understand  her,  —  that  is  quite 
enough." 

"  You  cannot  understand  her." 

"  I  understand  her  sufficiently  to  keep  my  finger 
on  the  pulse  of  the  machine.  I  want  her  to  be 
loving,  unselfish,  helpful." 

"  Ah,  that  is  it,  —  a  good  woman's  unselfishness 
fosters  the  selfishness  of  the  men  and  women  she 
lives  with." 

"  Thee  would  have  her  foster  her  own  selfish 
ness  ?  "  suggested  llichard  Amory. 

"  I  mean  that  she  is  herself  and  nobody  else.  I 
consider  that  she  should  not  be  allowed  to  sink 
into  a  downy  sleep,  —  to  accept  a  passive  content. 
You  may  say  she  is  still  a  child,  but  presently  she 
will  be  grown  up.  The  question  is  whether  you  are 
fitting  her  to  choose  her  career  in  life  by  cultiva 
ting  any  particular  talent." 

"  I  do  not  think  Kitty  has  any  particular  talent," 
Constance  replied. 

"  Oh  dear,  what  a  decision  !  Like  a  decree  of 
fate." 

"  She  is  like  me,"  said  Constance.  "  I  have  no 
particular  talent." 


PLACE  AUX  DAMES.  135 

"Now,  dear  cousin  Conny,"  Agatha  exclaimed, 
"  I  consider  you  quite  the  cleverest  woman  I 
know  !  " 

"  That  is  because  I  do  not  write  books,  or  make 
speeches,  or  put  myself  into  any  competition  with 
clever  women.  If  I  did,  you  would  soon  have  me 
at  a  disadvantage." 

"  Every  well-reared  girl  nowadays  ought  to  be 
able  to  support  herself  if  necessary,"  Mrs.  Darrow 
said,  looking  at  Kitty,  who  had  been  following  the 
discussion  with  an  intent,  rather  puzzled  look,  as  if 
trying  to  separate  the  wheat  from  the  chaff ;  but 
who  now,  feeling  herself  called  upon  to  answer, 
stammered  out  quite  aghast,  — 

"I  —  I  —  I  —  do  not  think  I  should  know  how 
to  support  myself." 

"  You  know  Italian,  of  course,  —  French  and 
English?" 

"  She  draws  beautifully,"  said  Gatty. 

"I  can  make  lace,"  Kitty  murmured  depreca- 
tingly. 

"  And  embroider ;  oh,  she  is  quite  wonderful 
with  the  needle." 

"  Why,  you  have  110  end  of  talents,  Kitty,"  Glen 
said,  sitting  back  in  his  chair  and  gazing  at  her. 
•'Take  my  napkin." 

"  Heaven  help  her  if  she  ever  has  to  earn  her  liv 
ing  by  any  one  of  them,"  observed  Constance.  "  I 
hear  people  talk  of  the  astonishing  abilities  of  this 
vvoman  or  that.  Mrs.  Edward  Darrow  was  saying 
yesterday,  '  So  much  good  work  ;  there  are  really 


136  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

no  amateurs  nowadays.'  I  refrained  only  by  an 
effort  from  saying  that  there  were  nothing  but 
amateurs." 

"  Ah,  cousin  Conny,  that  is  cruel,"  said  Gatty. 
"  Momma  talks  about  our  having  chosen  our 
careers,  —  about  the  importance  of  girls  being  able 
to  make  their  own  living.  If  she  were  consistent 
she  would  push  her  young  birds  out  of  the  nest 
and  let  them  try  their  wings." 

"  Sue  could  make  a  good  income  as  a  nurse." 

"  Whether  Millicent  and  I  could  would  be  the 
question." 

.  "  I  do  not  wish  to  earn  my  own  living,"  said 
Kitty,  still  perplexed. 

"  Exactly.  Why  should  you  ?  Why  should  we 
while  poppa  makes  nobody  knows  how  many  thou 
sands  a  year  for  us  ?  " 

"  The  reason  girls  who  feel  the  sacredness  and 
privilege  of  their  individual  rights  as  women  de 
sire  to  support  themselves,"  said  Mrs.  Darrow,  "  is 
not  to  be  independent  of  their  fathers,  but  to  have 
a  career  if  only  in  order  not  to  have  to  look  out 
for  a  husband  to  support  them." 

"  It  is  because  the  world  is  so  awfully  dull  for 
us  women,"  said  Gatty.  "  We  are  so  tired  of  hav 
ing  to  be  invited  to  go  out  to  dinner,  to  dance,  to 
marry.  It  is  so  tedious.  A  girl  wants  the  chance 
of  a  quiet,  simple  life  all  of  a  piece,  —  not  to  be  at 
the  mercy  of  mere  chance,  —  to  have  her  regular 
work  to  do ;  not  to  be  torn  this  way  and  that  by 
fluctuating  hopes,  feelings,  aspirations." 


PLACE  AUX  DAMES.  137 

"  You  have  reached  that  vantage-point  ?  "  Glen 
inquired  politely. 

"  Not  quite  yet,"  said  Gatty.  "  As  soon  as 
people  buy  my  pictures  I  shall  begin." 

"  No  husband  ?     Not  a  single  husband  ?  " 

"  Not  until  I  am  thirty-five,  at  least.  Surely  you 
do  not  suppose  I  would  give  up  all  my  youth  and 
strength  and  ambition  to  married  life  !  After  one 
has  accomplished  something  "  — 

"  Or  requires  some  compensation  for  having 
accomplished  nothing.  That  is  the  way  I  myself 
feel." 

"  The  ideal  marriage  does  exist,"  Mrs.  Darrow 
conceded.  "  Logically  it  belongs  to  a  successful 
career.  Yet  I  persist  in  telling  my  daughters  that 
there  are  duties  which  come  first." 

"I  agree  with  you  there,"  said  Constance.  "A 
girl  must  learn  in  her  own  home  how  to  give  and 
receive  happiness,  how  to  promote  comfort,  cheer, 
the  charm  of  life." 

"  In  a  word,  foster  the  selfishness  of  her  father, 
mother,  brothers,  and  sisters.  I  am  thinking  of  the 
city,  the  state,  the  country.  Men  have  settled 
down  into  a  state  of  mind  which  means  nothing 
but  social  deterioration  and  disintegration.  Hon 
esty  is  a  tradition  to  smile  at.  Faithful  perform 
ance  of  duty,  disinterestedness,  have  flatly  vanished 
out  of  the  existing  scheme  of  things.  Men's  hearts, 
intellects,  consciences,  are  in  the  clutch  of  a  deter 
mination  to  be  rich  at  any  cost.  Every  service 
has  its  price.  Every  enterprise  is  a  job." 


138  THE  EEVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

"  When  I  think  of  what  men  are,"  cried  Gatty, 
her  eyes  lighted,  her  cheeks  aflame,  "  I  feel  as  if  I 
could  not  marry  even  by  the  time  I  am  thirty-five." 

"  Do  not,  —  do  not  be  so  cruel,"  Glen  murmured. 

"  If  a  man  is  successful,"  said  Gatty,  "  it  is  just 
as  momma  says  ;  he  is  honeycombed  with  corrup 
tion.  If  he  is  a  failure  it  is  not  from  his  having 
loftier  ideas,  but  because  he  accepts  the  state  of 
things  passively." 

"  Exactly.  That  hits  me.  Oh,  for  one  hour  to 
be  a  successful  rogue  honeycombed  with  corrup 
tion  !  "  said  Glen. 

"  Gatty,"  suggested  Constance,  "  why  not  marry 
one  of  these  failures  and  bring  him  up  to  your 
level  ?  " 

"  I  may  be  ready  to  do  so  at  thirty-five.  Even 
then,  suppose  I  lived  to  be  seventy,  there  would 
be  thirty-five  years  of  seeing  him  at  breakfast  and 
dinner.  Oh,  how  tired  I  should  be  of  the  crea 
ture  !  " 

"  Thee  feels  quite  sure  he  would  like  it  ?  "  in 
quired  Richard  Amory. 

"  I  dare  say  he  would  be  as  much  bored  with 
smiling  at  me  and  calling  me  '  my  wife  '  as  I  should 
be  with  smiling  at  him  and  saying  '  my  husband.' 
I  think  I  will  put  it  off  until  I  am  fifty." 

"  But,  Gatty !  "  Kitty  cried,  as  if  in  anguish. 

"Well,  Kitty?" 

"  Suppose,  just  only  suppose,  you  loved  him  !  " 

"  I  could  n't  suppose  it,"  returned  Gatty.  "  That 
is  not  the  sort  of  woman  I  am." 


PLACE  AUX  DAMES.  139 

"  My  dear  Kitty,"  said  Glen,  "  you  will  have  to 
discard  tlie  idea  of  a  husband  as  a  superfluous  lux 
ury  ;  you  will  become  revolutionary  about  your 
right  to  a  personal  career.  You  will  take  to  smok 
ing  cigarettes  " 

"  Mamma  would  not  allow  me  to  smoke  cigar 
ettes." 

"  I  tell  you,  you  will  find  out  your  rights,  and 
what  your  mamma  says  will  refer  to  some  previous 
state  of  existence,  not  to  your  newly  arrived  stage 
of  enlightenment.  You  will  understand  for  yourself 
that  vegetation  at  home  is  for  cabbages,  that  woman 
requires  novelty,  entertainment,  fullness  of  expe 
rience.  I  have  just  one  atom  of  curiosity  which 
almost  piques  me  into  enduring  the  new  state  of  so 
ciety  for  a  few  hundred  years,  and  that  is  to  see 
what  woman  will  have  become  by  the  year  2500  ; 
whether,  with  all  her  advanced  and  advancing 
ideas,  she  will  by  that  date  have  succeeded  in  ac 
complishing  anything  original.  She  imitates  man 
with  amazing  cleverness  ;  all  that  man  has  done  she 
does,  or  attempts  to  do,  —  commits  murders  and 
suicides,  writes  books,  rides  wheels,  keeps  shop, 
dances  on  the  tight-rope,  performs  surgical  opera 
tions,  preaches  and  lectures.  But  so  far  she  has 
done  only  one  thing  man  cannot  do." 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  inquired  Kitty,  with  anima 
tion,  but  Constance  had  made  the  move. 

Richard  Amory  put  his  hands  one  on  each  of 
Glen's  shoulders,  pushed  him  into  the  book-room, 
closed  the  door  and  locked  it. 


140  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

"  I  am  glad  thee  pitched  into  them,"  he  said. 
"  I  was  ready  to  burst." 

"  Why  did  thee  not  speak  ?  "  inquired  Glen. 

"  Because  I  had  nothing  to  say,  save  '  Woman, 
hold  thy  peace.' ': 

"  I  felt,  I  still  feel,  like  the  vanishing  point 
of  a  far  perspective,"  said  Glen.  "  Give  me  a 
pipe." 

Each  chose  an  easy-chair,  sat  down,  sank  back 
into  the  cushions,  and  put  his  feet  up  on  the  sofa. 

"  Is  this  your  strongest  tobacco  ? "  Glen  mur 
mured.  "  I  want  something  that  will  take  the 
taste  of  it  out  of  my  mouth." 

"  Try  that  madeira.  I  have  only  a  little  of  it 
left,  but  I  give  it  to  thee  to-day.  Thee  needs  it.  I 
need  it." 

There  came  a  pause.  Then  Richard  Amory 
broke  silence :  — 

"  I  do  admire  these  women  who  decide  that  for 
six  thousand  years  the  world  has  been  going  on 
from  bad  to  worse,  and  that  they  are  now  going  to 
set  it  all  right." 

"  The  method  of  making  over  mankind  they  do 
not  stop  to  consider.  They  enjoy  their  triumph  in 
the  idea." 

"  A  woman  with  an  idea  is  like  a  dog  with  a 
bone  in  his  mouth." 

"  I  would  be  willing  to  wager  that  Conny  has 
more  housekeeping  in  her  little  finger  than  Alice 
Darrow  has  in  her  whole  body." 

"  I  have  wondered  sometimes  that  Ambury  stuck 


PLACE  AUX  DAMES.  141 

so  hard  at  his  work.  He  goes  to  town  at  7.30  and 
returns  at  6.30." 

"  I  should  live  in  my  office  if  I  were  he." 

"  Did  thee  not  think  she  actually  believed  she 
had  arrived  at  the  summit  of  ideas  ?  " 

"  At  the  very  summit,  and  as  if  we  were  the 
pebbles  under  her  feet." 

"  The  cleverest  woman  of  this  century  was  the 
mere  puppet  of  a  man." 

"  Plenty  of  women  have  their  share  of  genius, 
but  I  don't  pretend  to  be  great  because  Shake 
speare  and  Dante  have  existed." 

"  I  ask  thee  if  at  this  moment  there  is  on  earth 
any  woman  who  excels  man  in  any  occupation  in 
which  she  attempts  to  rival  men  ?  " 

"  There  are  some  first-class  actresses  and  singers." 

"  No  female  novelist  can  compare  with  Sien- 
kiewicz." 

"  Far  from  it." 

"  Is  there  a  great  woman  painter?" 

"  Not  one." 

"Sculptor?'" 

"  Not  one." 

A  tap  at  the  door  interrupted  the  colloquy. 

"  Who  is  there  ?  " 

"  It  is  I,  uncle  Richard." 

A  hand  tried  the  door. 

"  The  door  is  locked,  uncle  Richard." 

"  Of  course  it  is  locked." 

"  Mamma  says  we  are  waiting  coffee  on  the  ter 
race." 


142  THE  EEVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

"  Will  thee  tell  thy  mamma  we  are  very  particu 
larly  engaged." 

The  two  men  exchanged  looks  of  satisfaction. 
They  were  about  to  resume  their  classification  of 
the  sex  when  a  voice  came  from  the  window,  — 

"  Why  will  you  not  come  and  join  us  ?  " 

"  We  are  gnashing  our  teeth,"  said  Richard. 

"  You  have  reduced  us  to  protoplasm.  We  have 
got  to  begin  and  develop  over  again,"  Glen  added. 

"  We  did  not  intend  to  be  so  hard  on  you  as  all 
that,"  called  out  Gatty. 

"  Oh,  come,"  cried  Kitty.  "  It  is  so  dull  with 
out  you.  Do  come." 

"  Thee  does  not  realize  that  there  can  be  no 
place  for  us  in  thy  world.  We  give  it  up  to  the 
women." 

"We  shall  start  for  Japan.  You  can  make 
things  over  without  loss  of  time,  —  recommencer 
la  societe  kumaine" 

"  We  did  our  best,  but  we  confess  that  we  have 
made  a  failure  of  it.  Accordingly  we  withdraw 
from  the  contest.  Thee  can  go  out  to  the  Zoo  and 
choose  some  other  domestic  animal  to  take  the 
place  of  man." 

"  I  did  not  intend,"  said  Mrs.  Darrow,  "  to  hurt 
anybody's  feelings." 

"  Oh,  we  're  callous." 

"  Come  out,  and  let  us  reason  together." 

"  No  woman  can  reason." 

"  Thy  facts  may  be  all  right,  —  it  is  thy  conclu 
sions  that  are  all  wrong." 


PLACE  AUX  DAMES.  143 

"  Besides,  it 's  no  use  arguing  with  a  woman. 
When  I  argue  with  a  man  and  he  does  n't  admit 
the  truth  of  what  I  tell  him,  I  just  say,  '  You  are 
a  notorious  ass.'  Chivalry  forbids  saying  it  to  a 
woman." 

"  Oh,  chivalry  was  exploded  long  ago.  Come 
out,  —  the  afternoon  is  so  beautiful." 

"  If  we  come  out,  thee  would  go  about  boasting 
of  it." 

"  Besides  we  are  smoking  pipes,  drinking  ma 
deira,  not  to  say  brandy,  whiskey,  rum,  gin,  and 
beer.  We  have  got  our  feet  up  on  the  sofa.  Some 
how,  we  must  assert  our  rights." 

"  We  give  in,  —  we  give  in,"  said  Constance. 
"  With  all  your  faults  we  love  you  still.  Come, 
the  coffee  is  getting  cold." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

IN   THE   GAKDEN   BY   MOONLIGHT. 

THERE  was  a  capacity  for  mischief  in  Glenden- 
ning  Rennie  which  had  had  its  snares  and  tempta 
tions  for  him  when  he  was  younger,  and  which  he 
had  never  put  behind  him  as  a  dangerous  thing, 
but  kept,  as  it  were,  to  give  a  fillip  to  life.  After 
an  illness  in  which  he  had  measured  time  rather 
heavily,  he  had  before  now  yielded  to  an  instinct 
to  take  his  fling,  assert  his  right  to  his  innings 
against  fate  and  circumstance,  even  his  limitations 
of  health  and  strength.  While  Agatha  Darrow 
had  talked  that  day  at  luncheon  about  marriage,  it 
had  seemed  to  Glen  that  she  not  only  flung  down 
a  challenge,  but  had  flung  it  down  to  him.  In 
fact,  Glen  and  Agatha  had  before  now  had  little 
passages  of  intimacy,  when  he  directed  her  artistic 
attempts,  talked  to  her  about  art,  poetry,  and,  per 
haps,  men  and  women.  Her  high  imaginations, 
her  ideals,  her  somewhat  chaotic  theories  of  life, 
diverted  him,  and  he  liked  to  bring  out  the  contra 
dictions  in  her.  To-night  Mrs.  Darrow  had  asked 
Glen  and  Haliburton  to  dinner,  and  as  Glen 
dragged  John  reluctant  and  unwilling,  he  an 
nounced  his  intention  of  flirting  a  little  with 
Agatha. 


IN  THE  GARDEN  BY  MOONLIGHT.       145 

"  Just  as  a  pioneer,  you  know,  John,  —  to  point 
out  the  way.  You  can  look  at  me  and  take  a  hint 
how  to  make  love  to  Sue." 

"  Glen,  if  you  don't  cease  making  those  absurd, 
abominable  allusions,  I  will  turn  about  and  go 
back.  I  did  not  want  to  come  ;  I  hated  to  come. 
I  can't  understand  how  you  had  the  presumption 
to  accept  for  me." 

"  You  ought  to  be  glad  to  come  if  only  out  of 
common  decent  gratitude  to  Sue  for  nursing  me," 
said  Glen,  making  just  the  high  humane  plea  which 
would  grasp  Haliburton's  conscience. 

In  the  whole  wide  world  there  was  no  more 
modest  man  than  John  Haliburton.  The  dimmest, 
vaguest  recesses  of  his  mind  could  not  have  har 
bored  the  fancy  that  any  woman  could  feel  a  pre 
ference  for  him.  Yet  his  instinct  towards  the  eldest 
Miss  Darrow  was  one  of  lively  dread.  Ever  since 
he  had  become  her  father's  partner  the  possibility 
of  a  different,  but  still  a  family,  partnership  seemed 
to  be  in  everybody's  mind.  Even  Mrs.  Halibur 
ton  had  once  told  her  son  that  perhaps  Sue  was 
just  the  wife  he  needed.  This  speech  had  not 
merely  hurt  him,  as  only  the  lack  of  comprehension 
in  those  who  ought  to  understand  us  best  can  hurt, 
but  it  had  helped  to  give  him  a  nightmare  sensa 
tion  that,  through  some  vacuity  of  purpose,  some 
paralysis  of  will,  he  might  give  up  the  struggle  and 
ultimately  find  himself  at  the  altar  pledging  him 
self  to  love  and  cherish  Sue. 

Nevertheless,  John   always  performed  the  task 


146  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

allotted  to  him,  and  on  this  warm  evening  he  and 
Glen,  in  their  white  waistcoats  and  dinner  jackets, 
were  walking  towards  the  Ambury  Darrows'  just 
as  the  sun  was  setting.  Not  a  leaf  stirred.  The 
great  trees  stood  motionless,  their  tops  holding  the 
light  and  glow,  while  at  their  base  their  outlines 
began  already  to  melt  into  the  gloom  of  the  forest 
behind  them. 

"  Yes,"  Glen  went  on,  "  Sue  almost  saved  my 
life.  I  am  grateful  to  her.  She  is  a  superior 
woman.  I  wonder  —  if  a  fellow  has  any  right  to 
wonder  about  such  a  thing  —  whether  she  has  ever 
had  an  offer  of  marriage  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  the  faintest  idea,"  John  murmured, 
with  a  visible  effort  to  detach  himself  from  any 
show  of  interest  in  the  subject. 

"  I  do  really  feel,"  Glen  pursued.  "  that  a  man 
has  a  duty  in  such  matters.  When  we  see  a  valu 
able,  excellent  creature,  full  of  resource,  energy, 
and  will,  we  ought  to  feel  that  it  is  wrong  that  she 
should  be  excluded  from  the  highest  possibilities 
of  a  woman's  life." 

"  Oh,  come,  Glen,  you  are  talking  for  the  sake 
of  talking." 

"  We  have  it  in  our  power  to  regulate  and  har 
monize  things,  to  give  a  certain  roundness  and 
symmetry  to  —  to  —  Hang  it,  where  is  my  flow 
of  ideas  ?  "  said  Glen.  "  I  wonder,  now,  if  Gatty 
has  ever  had  a  love  affair?  " 

"  It  has  surprised  me  that  nobody  seems  to  run 
after  Gatty,  for  she  is  young,  good-looking,  rather 


IN   THE  GARDEN  BY  MOONLIGHT.        147 

pleasing  at  times,  and  Ambury  Darrow  has  money 
enough  to  give  each  of  the  girls  a  handsome  dot" 

"  Now  I  wonder  how  many  offers  Conny  has 
had  ?  "  mused  Glen. 

"  Constance  Bertini  ?  " 

"  Constance  Bertini." 

"  Well,  we  seem  to  know  of  three,"  said  Hali- 
burton,  smiling. 

"  Count  out  mine.  I  dare  say  she  has  had 
twenty,  at  least.  How  unfair  it  is.  I  declare  it 's 
a  crying  shame." 

They  were  already  at  the  house,  where  they  were 
received  like  the  dew  from  heaven.  Ambury 
Darrow  sat  adoring  his  womenkind,  who  grouped 
about  him  in  their  white  evening  gowns,  super 
abundant  in  flesh,  color,  spirits,  talk,  and  gestures. 
It  has  been  remarked  that  Mrs.  Darrow  rarely  said 
much  in  her  husband's  presence,  having  her  own 
times  and  seasons.  He  considered  her  a  delightful 
creature,  clever  in  her  way,  —  silly,  possibly,  in 
other  people's  ;  but,  however  lacking  in  sense,  she 
had  given  him  these  three  splendid  daughters,  and 
he  worshiped  her  accordingly. 

"  Take  Mrs.  Darrow  out,  John,"  he  said  to  Hali- 
burton.  "  Sue  shall  come  along  with  me,  but  she 
shall  sit  next  to  you.  Milly  dear,  here  is  my  other 
arm ;  and  Gatty,  as  you  are  young  and  foolish, 
you  shall  have  Glen  all  to  yourself." 

Thus  Haliburton  and  Sue  Darrow  were  on  one 
side  of  the  table;  on  the  other  Glen  sat  between 
Millicent  and  Agatha.  Ambury  Darrow  was  the 


148  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

talking  partner  of  the  firm.  lie  had  all  know 
ledge  for  his  province.  Around  each  new  case 
which  offered  were  clustered  a  new  set  of  facts  and 
ideas  of  which  he  must  be  master.  He  and  Ilali- 
burton  had  now  a  suit  before  the  courts  in  which 
they  were  protecting  the  rights  of  an  electrician, 
and  Ambury  took  this  opportunity  of  handling 
a  great  mass  of  newly  acquired  facts.  He  knew 
everything  about  electricity  from  the  beginning  to 
its  latest  up-to-date  discovery,  and  he  even  grasped 
its  potentialities  for  the  future.  He  sat  talking, 
illustrating  the  subject  by  all  the  tumblers,  wine 
glasses,  decanters,  and  bits  of  silver  within  reach. 
Practically  there  was  no  limit  to  what  electricity 
was  to  do  for  our  comfort,  our  convenience,  in  the 
way  of  heat,  light,  transportation,  service.  But 
that  was  merely  the  beginning.  Science  was  con 
fronted  with  a  new  set  of  proofs,  demonstrations, 
and  facts,  which  science  would  presently  know  how 
to  meet  and  make  use  of,  enlarging  human  life  to 
the  vastest  capacities  and  even  throwing  new  light 
on  the  occult,  the  shadowy  realms  of  the  unseen 
but  dimly  felt. 

Where  Ambury  Darrow  could  go  his  daughters 
could  follow,  with  even  more  dash  and  dare,  plun 
ging  into  depths  not  before  sounded.  The  conver 
sation  went  on  all  through  the  meal :  what  electric 
waves  had  done,  what  electric  waves  could  do; 
what  their  discovery  explained  about  phenomena 
mysterious  and  often  weird  in  the  past,  what  pro 
mises  of  fresh  miracles  they  offered  for  the  future. 


IN   THE  GARDEN  BY  MOONLIGHT.        149 

The  background  of  dimly  descried  and  feebly 
comprehended  forces,  from  which  had  beckoned 
the  miracles  of  Buddhism,  spiritualism,  faith-cures, 
and  Christian  Science,  all  was  made  readily  com 
patible  with  every-day  existence.  They  all  seemed 
to  feel  a  vaster  promise  in  life,  a  more  assured 
future. 

Glen  listened,  saying  little.  Haliburton  accepted 
here  and  there  a  fact,  then  rested.  It  was  interest 
ing  to  them  both  to  see  how  Ambury  Darrow's 
daughters  flung  themselves  into  the  subject,  and 
were  carried  to  its  top  wave ;  how  clearly  they 
grasped  the  idea,  and  how  lucidly  they  illustrated, 
not  only  its  prose,  but  its  sublimity,  its  emotion. 

"  It  's  something  to  have  three  girls  like  mine," 
Ambury  Darrow  said  when  the  ladies  had  left  the 
table.  "I  can  talk  on  any  subject  with  them. 
They  are  never  at  a  loss." 

"  Certainly,"  Glen  observed,  "  Dick  Steele  could 
easily  have  said,  that  to  love  one  of  them  was  a 
liberal  educatiop."  He  glanced  at  John  as  he 
spoke.  "  As  Rip  Van  Winkle  said  of  a  different 
sort  of  women,  '  What  wives  they  would  make  ! ' ' 

"  Now  there  is  Sue,"  the  proud  father  continued  ; 
"  if  we  could  only  take  her  in  as  partner,  John,  she 
would  surprise  us  by  her  swift  insight.  There  's 
a  deal  of  wisdom  in  her." 

"  What  a  wife  she  would  make  for  John,"  Glen 
murmured  under  his  breath.  "  That  is  what  I  am 
thinking  of." 

"  Precious  few  men  would  come  up  to  my  stand- 


150  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

ard,"  said  Ambury  Darrow.  "  I  know  men,  and 
I  know  my  girls  are  too  clever,  not  to  say  too  good, 
for  the  most  of  them." 

"  How  about  John  ?  "  Glen  asked. 

"  Present  company  always  excepted,"  said  Am 
bury  Darrow. 

They  went  in  to  join  the  ladies,  but  Glen,  in 
stead  of  sitting  down,  stepped  out  of  the  open 
French  window,  and  called  "  Agatha." 

She  came  to  his  side. 

"  Would  it  be  too  old-fashioned  and  unadvanced 
if  I  asked  you  to  go  down  the  lawn  with  me  ? 
I  'm  an  old  fellow,  but  when  I  was  young  we  used 
to  do  such  things." 

"  No,"  said  Agatha. 

"  Don't  you  want  to  go,  John  ?  "  Sue  inquired. 
"  I  feel  anxious  about  Glen." 

Haliburton  put  himself  at  Miss  Darrow' s  service 
on  the  instant. 

"  Go  on,  you  two,"  said  Glen.  "  We  will  fol 
low."  He  took  Agatha's  hand  ^nd  put  it  under 
his  arm.  "  Do  you  suppose,"  he  said  to  her  as 
they  sauntered  down  the  path,  "  that  Sue  has  any 
electrical  apparatus  in  her  pocket  which  will  enable 
her  to  hear  what  I  say  ?  For  when  I  walk  in  the 
moonlight  with  a  charming  young  woman  I  wish 
to  keep  my  conversation  for  the  exclusive  ear  of 
the  charming  young  woman." 

"  Dear  me !  Do  you  call  me  a  charming  young 
woman  ?  " 

"I  did   think  so,"  said  Glen.     "When  I  first 


IN  THE  GARDEN  BY  MOONLIGHT.        151 

clapped  my  eyes  on  you  to-night  I  said  to  myself, 
'  How  pretty  Gatty  looks.  I  am  going  to  indulge 
myself  by  flirting  with  her  a  little.'  ' 

"  Why  have  n't  you  ?  " 

"  I  had  no  chance,"  said  Glen.  "  We  have 
been  talking  such  dismal  things.  I  hate  your 
electricity  and  all  your  science.  How  could  a  man 
venture  to  whisper  flatteries  to  a  girl  who  knows 
all  about  induced  currents  and  electric  waves  ?  " 

"You  would  whisper  flatteries  to  a  girl  who 
knew  about  the  moon." 

"  The  moon  still  passes  muster  as  a  romantic 
subject,  although  so  much  is  known  to  its  discredit 
nowadays  that  I  do  not  so  much  object  to  its  being 
put  out  by  electric  light.  But  oh,  to  live  at  a 
period  when  women  —  men,  too,  for  that  matter  — 
knew  nothing  !  When  even  the  origin  of  the  sweet, 
silver  light  of  the  moon  was  a  mere  clever  conceit, 
a  poetic  fancy,  a  shrewd  guess  !  Then  you  and  I 
might  have  had  a  thrill  of  emotion  walking  along 
here  together.  That  is,  —  I  might."  They  had 
come  into  the  full  blaze  of  the  low  summer  moon. 
"How  well  you  look,  Gatty,"  he  said,  stopping 
short  in  the  path  and  letting  his  eyes  rest  tin  her. 

"  My  white  frock,  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Do  you  call  it  a  frock  ?  " 

"  One  has  so  many  wash  dresses,  one  cannot  take 
them  seriously  enough  to  call  them  gowns." 

"  I  like  this,"  said  Glen  pensively.  "  I  don't 
think  I  could  ever  make  love  to  a  girl  in  a  tailor- 
made  gown." 


152  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

"  That  is  why  I  like  to  wear  them." 

"  You  do  not  want  men  to  make  love  to  you  ?  " 

"  You  know  that  I  do  not." 

"  Then  you  should  n't  put  on  these  alluring  white 
frocks.  I  could  make  love  to  you  very  easily." 

"  Oh,  well,  make  love  a  little  if  you  like,"  said 
Gatty.  "  I  don't  mind  you." 

"No,  you  don't  mind  me.  I  am  an  old  fellow 
and  I  am  safe.  But  I  have  been  thinking,  ever 
since  I  heard  you  say  you  would  not  marry  until 
you  were  thirty-five,  that  it  was  a  shame  you  should 
postpone  somebody's  felicity  until  then.  How  do 
you  manage?  Do  you  shut  up  your  heart? " 

"  Lock  it  up  and  throw  the  key  away." 

"  Do  you  ever  read  poetry  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes." 

"Novels?" 

"  Plenty  of  them." 

"Do  they  thrill  you?" 

"  Perhaps  so,  —  a  little.  Then  I  say  to  my 
self,  '  This  love  they  talk  about  is  a  fable  agreed 
upon.' " 

"  You  mean  it  does  n't  exist  ?  " 

"  Even  a  fable  has  a  sort  of  existence.  It  is 
useful  in  literature  and  art." 

"  Well,  yes.  Take  love  out  of  literature  and  art 
and  there  would  be  rather  a  blank." 

"  Art  would  survive  better  than  literature,"  said 
Agatha,  alert  and  interested  at  once  ;  "  for  ma 
ternal  love  would  be  left,  and  the  best  pictures  of 
the  world  have  that  for  their  motive." 


IN   THE  GARDEN  BY  MOONLIGHT.        153 

"  Does  n't  maternal  love  presuppose  a  woman's 
love  for  a  man  ?  "  demanded  Glen. 

"  Maternal  love  is  the  one  reality  of  a  woman's 
life,"  said  Agatha ;  "  I  might  say  it  is  the  one 
reality  of  all  human  life,  —  not  only  of  human  life, 
but  of  all  life." 

"  Oh,  don't  go  off  into  scientific  theory  again," 
said  Glen  ;  "  you  make  life  horribly  hideous  among 
you.  You  women  do  not  stick  at  a  trifle.  Let  us 
go  back  to  your  first  premise  — '  This  love  they 
talk  about  is  a  fable  agreed  upon.'  You  mean  it 
can't  be  seen,  heard,  felt,  touched,  or  tasted." 

"  Well,  at  a  venture,  no,"  said  Agatha. 

"  Life  is  perfectly  satisfactory  to  you,  then,"  said 
Glen.  "  You  get  up  in  the  morning ;  you  look  out 
on  a  day  such  as  this  :  nothing  animates  and  stirs 
your  heart  which  you  do  not  quite  define ;  no 
promise  of  something  almost  within  reach.  There 
is  no  sense  of  hollowness,  of  incompleteness  in  the 
e very-day  task." 

"  Do  you  call  that  love  ? "  demanded  Agatha. 
"  Of  course  there  is  in  life  a  baffling  sense  of  not 
being  able  quite  to  get  what  one  wants  out  of  fine 
weather,  —  there  is  a  sort  of  melancholy  in  the  way 
the  shadows  creep  up  the  lawn  in  the  afternoon." 

"  Now  just  define  that  melancholy,"  said  Glen. 
"  Nature  gives  us  that  sensation  of  longing ;  it  is 
not  quite  enough  to  us  that  the  world  is  beautiful. 
Perhaps  the  trouble  is  that  she  has  been  beautiful 
to  so  many ;  that  she  is  so  old ;  that  she  knows  all 
the  secrets  of  life  and  death,  —  not  only  the  life  and 


154  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

death  of  generations,  but  that  she  means  presently 
to  absorb  us,  —  that  after  a  little  interval  we  shall 
be  a  part  of  her,  — 

'  Rolled  round  in  earth's  diurnal  course 
With  rocks  and  stones  and  trees.' 

No,  Nature  draws  us,  she  holds  us,  but  she  also 
threatens.  You  don't  feel  a  shudder  at  this  mo 
ment,  Gatty?" 

"No." 

"  That  is  because  we  are  together.  We  are  con 
scious  of  each  other.  We  give  each  other  solace 
and  hope.  You  are  leaning  on  my  arm  ;  you  are 
listening  to  me,  and  I  am  looking  into  your  face ; 
we  are  thinking  and  feeling."  He  broke  off  and 
laughed.  "What  is  it?  Why  do  you  wish  to 
take  your  hand  away  ?  " 

"  Because  you  "  — 

"Because  I  am  talking  about  the  palpableness 
of  love?" 

"  I  should  say  that  you  were  proving  the  impal- 
pableness  of  love." 

"  Quite  the  contrary.  You  have  admitted  that 
Nature  stirs,  troubles,  perplexes ;  that  we  long  to 
clasp  her,  but  cannot  clasp  what  is  so  big,  so  vast, 
so  little  responsive  ;  that  what  contents  us  is  the 
being  together,  the  feeling  that  we  can  clasp  hands  ; 
that  we  are  not  infinite,  but  finite ;  that "  — 

At  this  moment  a  voice  called,  — 

"  Glen,  I  think  you  have  been  out  long  enough. 
It  is  distinctly  cooler." 

"Yes,  yes,  dear  Sue,"  Glen  answered  soothingly. 


IN   THE  GARDEN  BY  MOONLIGHT.        155 

"  We  are  coming  directly."  Nevertheless,  he  and 
Agatha  took  the  loop  at  the  end  of  the  path  and 
vanished  into  the  shimmering  half  light  among 
the  shrubberies.  Fifteen  minutes  later,  when  they 
neared  the  house,  they  were  walking  apart  and  were 
both  silent.  Glen,  however,  seemed  in  high  spirits, 
while  Agatha  looked  rather  excited. 

Other  visitors  had  come  in,  and  everybody  was 
eating  frozen  peaches.  Haliburton  and  Glen  ex 
changed  a  glance,  and  then  prepared  to  take 
leave.  Glen  told  everybody  he  had  had  a  charm 
ing  evening,  and  in  bidding  Agatha,  in  particular, 
good-night,  thanked  her  for  a  really  delightful 
old-fashioned  time. 

"  What  were  you  and  Agatha  talking  about  ?  " 
Haliburton  inquired  on  their  way  home. 

"  Love,"  said  Glen.    "  Were  you  and  Sue  also  ?  " 

"  We  were  not,"  Haliburton  replied  succinctly  ; 
then,  after  a  moment,  he  added,  "  We  were  talking 
of  subjects  we  both  understand,  —  the  children's 
hospital,  and  so  forth." 

"You  would  have  found,"  said  Glen,  "that 
her  intuitions  about  love  were  more  entertaining 
than  "  - 

"  I  don't  go  about  flirting  with  every  woman  I 
meet,"  Haliburton  said,  with  some  energy. 

"  I  do,"  said  Glen.  "  Then,  don't  you  see,  they 
know  what  to  expect." 


CHAPTER   XII. 
KITTY  FINDS   HER  WINGS. 

FOR  once  in  her  regular  life  Constance  was  late 
to  breakfast. 

When  she  opened  her  eyes  that  morning,  she 
saw  Kitty  sitting  cross-legged  at  the  foot  of  her 
bed,  clasping  a  white  dove  against  her  breast. 

Constance,  startled,  reached  out  her  arms. 
"  Why,  dearest  child,  is  it  so  late  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,  not  late.  I  am  up  and  dressed  early," 
Kitty  replied. 

Constance  still  flushed  with  sleep,  in  a  rumple  of 
cambric  and  lace,  lay  back  on  her  pillows,  smiling, 
yet  with  a  stirring  of  the  maternal  instinct  that 
Kitty  wished  to  tell  her  something,  and  had  availed 
herself  of  this  sure  opportunity.  AVhat  could  it 
be  ?  Conjectures  flashed  through  her  mind. 

"Well,  dear  little  girl?"  she  said  softly. 

"  But,  really,  mamma  mia,  I  am  no  longer  such 
a  very  little  girl."  Kitty,  as  she  said  this,  blushed 
furiously.  Constance  had  never  before  seen  just 
that  sort  of  blush  on  Kitty's  face.  She  knew  the 
shy  blush,  the  blush  of  embarrassment,  the  blush 
of  sudden  feeling.  This  was  different. 

"  Oh,  that  was   what  I   noticed  unusual  about 


KITTY  FINDS  HER    WINGS.  157 

you.  You  have  put  your  braids  on  your  head. 
But,  however  grown  up  you  may  be,  I  expect  to 
go  on  calling  you  my  dear  little  girl  all  my  life. 
You  cannot  begin  to  know  how  precious  the  words 
are  to  me." 

"  But  I  feel  old,  —  quite  old." 

"  That  is  because  you  are  so  very  young.  The 
really  older  you  grow  you  will  discover  that  being 
grown  up  is  only  a  fashion  of  speaking.  Life  re 
mains  always  for  most  people  a  little  experimental. 
The  supreme  comfort  is  to  feel  that  there  is  some 
one  close,  near,  strong,  and  sure,  capable  of  judging 
for  us  and,  if  need  be,  of  protecting  us." 

Kitty  gave  a  deep  sigh. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  that  is  the  reason  why  women 
marry,"  she  observed  in  a  tone  of  peculiar  satisfac 
tion  which  roused  expectation.  Constance  pon 
dered  the  remark  for  a  moment,  speculating  upon 
the  idea  behind  it,  then  said,  — 

"  I  married  your  papa  particularly  for  that  rea 
son.  I  knew  that  he  was  strong  and  wise,  and  I 
had  a  horrible  feeling  of  littleness  in  the  big 
world." 

A  little  childish  laugh  fluttered  from  Kitty. 

"  Mamma,  I  should  like  to  marry  cousin  Glen." 

"  Marry  cousin  Glen  ?  " 

"Yes." 

The  words  had  struck  Constance  with  a  sharp 
surprise,  yet  she  at  first  believed  that  they  were 
the  mere  effervescence  of  childish  mischief. 

"  What  has  put  such  an  idea  into  your  head  ?  " 


158  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

she  asked.  But  as  their  eyes  met,  she  saw  that 
Kitty's  were  shining ;  that  her  cheeks  were  of  shell- 
pink  brightness ;  that  there  was  a  soft  tremulous- 
ness  about  her  lips. 

"  I  love  him  so  dearly,  mamma." 

Constance  looked  at  Kitty  with  a  face  that  was 
frightened  rather  than  angry,  bewildered,  perhaps, 
rather  than  frightened.  Kitty  was  trembling  from 
head  to  foot,  trembling  so  that  the  dove  escaped 
from  her  clasp,  flew  and  alighted  on  the  top  of  the 
toilet-glass. 

After  remaining  for  a  moment  in  doubt  how  to 
answer,  Constance  said  in  a  quiet  way,  — 

"  Of  course  we  all  love  Glen.  Pie  has  the  trick 
of  making  everybody  love  him.  He  has  not  done 
half  or  a  quarter  of  what  he  ought  to  have  done 
with  his  rather  unusual  powers,  but  we  forgive 
him  because  he  is  just  what  he  is,  —  getting  his 
own  sort  of  pleasure  and  satisfaction  out  of  life, 
but  frankly  confessing  that  he  is  a  failure.  I  don't 
suppose,  dear,  he  ever  said  anything  about  marry 
ing  anybody." 

"  No,  — not  exactly." 

"  How  very  droll  of  you  to  suggest  such  a  thing ! " 

"  He  says  he  is  so  lonely,"  Kitty  burst  out. 
"  He  likes  to  have  me  with  him.  He  knows  I  love 
him  dearly ;  that  I  feel  so  sorry  for  him." 

"I  should  have  said  Glen  was  the  least  lonely 
man  I  know.  He  has  a  whimsical  way  of  talking ; 
makes  much  out  of  nothing  simply  in  order  to  be 
amusing.  He  is  an  endless  reader,  or  give  him  a 


KITTY  FINDS  HER    WINGS.  159 

good  photograph,  etching,  or  engraving,  and  he  is 
happy  for  days.  Just  to  lie  on  his  back,  and  look 
at  the  sky  satisfies  him.  Then  he  has  Mr.  Hali- 
burton,  who  is  simply  the  kindest  brother  in  the 
world.  And,  although  I  have  no  right  to  say  that 
any  one  is  happy  or  miserable  against  his  or  her 
own  statement  of  the  case,  I  still  consider  Glen 
very  well  suited  with  his  life.  So  I  advise  you  to 
bestow  your  pity  on  somebody  who  needs  it."  Con 
stance  paused  a  moment,  just  long  enough  to  give 
weight  to  what  she  was  about  to  add.  "  Above  all, 
do  not  fancy  that  he  wishes  to  marry  any  one.  A 
wife  would  be  very  much  in  his  way,  —  or  rather 
quite  out  of  his  way." 

There  was  a  curious  pain  and  perplexity  in 
Kitty's  face,  —  a  questioning  of  her  words  that 
hurt  Constance. 

"  Mamma,  I  do  not  think  you  know  him  as  well 
as  I  know  him,"  the  young  girl  said,  with  decision  ; 
then,  having  said  it,  she  cast  down  her  eyes,  but 
her  whole  face  retained  an  expression  of  quiet  re 
solution. 

"Tell  me  all  about  it,  dear,"  said  Constance. 
She  was  trying  her  wits  at  the  puzzle.  There 
seemed  to  be  some  jugglery,  some  magic  she  did 
not  understand.  She  would  have  said  that  Kitty 
had  hardly  ever  been  alone  with  Glen  except  on 
the  night  of  Haliburton's  little  dinner  and  two  or 
three  similar  occasions.  By  a  few  adroit  questions 
she  elicited  a  full  confidence.  Glen  had  begun  by 
finding  fault  with  Kitty ;  he  had  laughed  at  her, 


160  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

criticised  her ;  he  had  a  way  of  looking  at  her  with 
his  eyes  half  closed,  and  seeming  to  deride  her. 
She  had  been  shy,  almost  ashamed  in  his  presence. 
Finally,  however,  she  had  found  that  he  always 
watched  for  her,  and  seemed  to  wait ;  and  presently 
she  began  to  believe  that,  after  all,  he  was  rather 
well  pleased  with  her.  Even  when  he  had  been 
harsh,  his  tone  and  glance  would  drop  into  blissful 
gentleness.  And  once  he  had  even  gone  so  far  as 
to  say  she  was  pretty,  —  that  she  charmed  him,  at 
least  for  a  moment.  He  had  asked  her  questions 
about  her  reading  ;  they  had  once  read  a  few  pages 
of  the  "  Vita  Nuova"  together,  — just  to  brush  up 
his  Italian,  he  said.  He  had  made  her  play  to  him 
both  on  the  piano  and  the  violin.  Then,  finally,  a 
little  more  had  come  out,  and  Kitty  told  of  the 
scene  in  Haliburton's  garden,  now  ten  days  old. 

"You  say  you  kissed  him?"  Constance  ex 
claimed. 

Kitty,  with  a  shy  candor  which  still  had  some 
thing  of  mischief  in  it,  explained  that  it  was  just 
an  impulse ;  that  her  touch  was  so  gentle  she  did 
not  awake  him.  By  degrees  she  told  everything 
that  had  passed  between  them  at  that  interview. 

No  stroke  of  misfortune  seemed  at  the  moment 
so  inconceivable  to  Constance  as  that  Kitty  had 
not  been  guarded  from  such  an  indiscretion.  It 
was  horrible  to  picture  the  act  of  the  kiss  bestowed. 
Still  it  was  laughably  absurd,  and  nothing  could 
have  been  more  innocent.  Constance  was  abso 
lutely  rational ;  she  meant  to  be  a  woman  of  the 


KITTY  FINDS  HER   WINGS.  161 

world,  yet  this  confession  gave  her  a  feeling  like  a 
physical  chill. 

"  Was  he  asleep  or  awake  when  you  —  kissed 
him  ?  "  she  inquired.  She  quivered  as  she  spoke 
the  word. 

"  I  am  sure  he  was  asleep,"  faltered  Kitty. 

"  Had  he  been  awake  he  would  have  known  that 
it  was  a  childish  way  of  showing  your  sympathy, 
your  pity.  It  would  be  embarrassing  to  a  man  to  be 
kissed  out  of  pity  by  anybody  but  the  merest  child." 

"  Oh,  he  thinks  I  am  a  child,"  Kitty  murmured. 
She  smiled  at  the  recollection.  "  I  think  he  wants 
me  to  be  a  child.  He  says  he  hates  to  think  of  my 
growing  up." 

The  dove  began  to  circle  restlessly  round  and 
round  the  room,  beating  its  wings  and  head  against 
the  ceiling.  Kitty  flung  the  shutters  of  both  win 
dows  wide  open  that  it  might  fly  forth.  The  long 
shafts  of  sunlight,  the  call  of  birds,  the  morning 
breeze  that  entered  fluttering  and  set  the  curtains 
and  the  toilet  hangings  swaying,  seemed  to  be  a 
message  from  the  outside  world,  a  message  that 
was  healthy  and  reviving. 

"  If  he  was  not  asleep  he  pretended  to  be  asleep, 
and  said  nothing  about  it,"  Kitty  now  confessed,  a 
little  shamefacedly. 

"  I  would  not  have  my  Kitty  anything  less  than 
warm-hearted.  Only  one  stops  before  committing 
absurdities,  —  one  holds  one's  self  in  check,"  Con 
stance  said  quietly. 

"  But,  mamma,  I  felt  so  sorry  for  him,  I  "  — 


162  THE  EEVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

"  These  little  matters  have  been  arranged  for  us. 
Ever  since  society  began  men  and  women  have  been 
accumulating  experience.  It  saves  a  great  deal  of 
trouble.  For  a  girl  or  a  woman  to  make  any  sort  of 
an  advance  to  a  man  robs  her  of  charm.  Do  you 
wish  to  eat  the  grapes  that  fall  of  their  own  ac 
cord,  or  do  you  reach  instead  to  get  the  highest 
bunch  with  the  untouched  bloom  upon  it?" 

Constance  felt  herself  to  be  a  poor  duenna. 
Even  while  she  imposed  her  views  with  the  as 
sumption  that  they  must  necessarily  be  accepted  as 
the  law,  she  was  yet  fully  conscious  that  she  was 
addressing  an  alert  mind,  already  half  intoxicated 
by  a  sense  that  it  could  feel  for  itself,  judge  for 
itself.  How  not  to  destroy  that  half  infancy  of  the 
heart  she  had  tried  to  guard  ;  how  to  make  the  case 
clear  without  either  magnifying  a  childish  impulse 
or  seeming  not  to  attach  sufficient  importance  to  it  ? 

The  dove,  after  exhausting  its  strength  in  beat 
ing  against  the  cornice,  dropped  to  rest  upon  the 
back  of  a  chair,  espied  the  open  window,  and  darted 
forth  ;  Kitty,  standing  by  the  window,  laughed  with 
pleasure  at  the  swift-winged  flight  into  the  blue. 

Constance,  looking  at  the  girl,  was  startled  by  a 
sudden  conviction  that  she  was  almost  beautiful. 
The  poise  of  her  figure  as  she  stood  leaning  out  was 
so  graceful,  so  elastic  ;  her  complexion  was  so  deli 
cate  ;  her  eyes  and  smile  had  gained  somehow  at  once 
so  much  softness  besides  their  old  dazzling  charm. 
Even  her  hands  and  wrists  had  rounded  and  be 
come  pretty.  Had  Glen  actually  amused  himself 


KITTY  FINDS  HER    WINGS.  163 

by  making  love  to  Kitty  ?  No  man  sees  beauty 
unmoved,  —  certainly  not  a  poet  like  Glen,  who 
was  always  too  sensitive,  too  emotional.  Constance, 
after  having  said  to  herself  ever  since  Kitty  was  a 
child  that  she  really  believed  Kitty  would  be  ac 
tually  pretty  when  she  was  grown  up,  realized  that 
the  time  had  come  when  the  bud  of  beauty  was 
ready  to  burst  forth.  Seen  at  this  moment  the 
young  girl  was  too  sweet  to  be  looked  at  coldly ; 
an  advance  from  her  could  not  be  less  than  seduc 
tive  to  the  head  and  heart  of  any  man  alive. 

"  Kitty !  "  she  called.  Kitty  turned  and  saw 
her  mother's  arms  wide  open.  She  gave  a  little 
gasp  of  feeling ;  her  whole  expression  was  suddenly 
transfigured  into  childish  gratitude. 

"  Oh,  mamma,"  she  cried,  "  you  do  love  me  ? 
You  are  not  really  shocked  at  me  ?  "  She  nestled 
into  the  open  arms. 

"  It  was  just  because  I  have  kept  you  a  little  girl 
too  long,"  Constance  murmured  presently.  "  I  have 
not  said,  '  You  are  a  woman,  and  must  hold  your 
self  precious.'  Of  course  when  womanhood  comes 
it  is  something  far  better  than  childhood.  But  it 
robs  us  of  as  much  as  it  gives  us.  So  I  waited.  I 
have  so  loved  to  feel  that  I  was  all  in  all  to  you, 
just  as  you  are  all  in  all  to  me."  They  clung  to 
each  other,  one  wet  cheek  against  the  other  wet 
cheek.  "  I  have  said  to  myself,"  Constance  went 
on,  "  that  by  and  by,  years  hence,  some  other  fate 
would  come,  —  something  sweeter,  something  per 
haps  dearer  ;  but  oh,  something  so  much  more  dif- 


1G4  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

ficult.  I  wanted  to  put  off  the  thought  of  it  as 
long  as  we  might,  —  never  taking  one  step  towards 
that  other  destiny,  —  letting  it  come  all  the  way 
towards  you.  '  Twenty-five  is  young  enough  for 
my  Kitty  to  think  of  marriage,'  I  said,  —  I  who 
knew  what  it  was  to  be  hurried  into  marriage  when 
I  was  a  mere  child.  I  had  no  mother.  My  father 
was  ill ;  he  was  glad  to  have  me  settled.  He  wanted 
your  uncle  Richard  to  come  back  to  the  house 
here  and  live.  It  was  almost  as  if  everybody  longed 
to  be  rid  of  me." 

She  paused  and  waited  for  a  word  from  Kitty. 
When  no  response  came,  not  even  a  closer  pres 
sure,  Constance  drew  back  and  looked  into  Kitty's 
face.  The  eyes  met  hers  unfalteringly. 

"  Speak,  Kitty,"  she  said,  yearning  for  a  full 
surrender  of  every  thought  and  struggling  fancy  in 
the  young  girl's  mind. 

"  But  I  have  nothing  to  say." 

"  What  are  you  thinking  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  seem  to  be  thinking  any  one  clear 
thought." 

"  But  you  love  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  love  you  dearly." 

"  You  accept  what  I  say  ?  " 

" Oh  yes,  mamma  mia" 

Constance,  sounding  the  answer  through,  had  an 
instinct  that  there  was  some  slight  reservation. 

"  Promise  me  one  thing,  Kitty." 

"  I  promise,  —  I  promise  almost  everything, 
mamma." 


KITTY  FINDS  HER    WINGS.  165 

"  Promise  me  that  you  will  never,  —  but  oh,  my 
child !  To  have  to  tell  my  sweet,  proud,  high-bred 
Kitty  to  lock  up  all  her  sweetness,  to  begrudge 
a  touch  of  her  hand,  to  keep  her  lips  sacred !  " 

"  I  promise  everything  except  not  to  love  Glen, 
mamma.  I  would  rather  die  than  not  love  him." 

As  she  spoke  her  dark  eyelashes  lifted  full  on 
Constance,  then  dropped. 

"  But  you  promise  what  I  ask?" 

"  I  promise." 

"And  feel  this,  dear, — that  finally  when  you 
are  chosen  and  have  the  right  to  choose,  you  must 
take  some  one  to  whom  you  look  up,  to  whom 
your  soul  strives  upward,  as  a  seed  in  the  earth  to 
wards  light  and  warmth." 

"  That  is  the  way  I  feel  towards  cousin  Glen." 

"  Cousin  Glen  is  charming.  Of  course  as  he  is 
twenty  years  and  more  older  than  you  are  he  be 
longs  to  a  different  generation.  I  never  came 
across  a  man  who  is  pleasanter  as  a  friend  than 
Glen,  —  as  a  cousin,  as  a  dropper-in,  an  habitue, 
he  is  perfect.  He  is  clever,  far  cleverer  than  he 
gives  himself  out  to  be.  He  is  also  a  complete 
man  of  the  world,  —  fastidious,  critical,  a  man  with 
all  his  wits  about  him.  His  heart  and  lungs  may 
not  be  of  the  strongest,  but  his  head  is  all  there. 
Nobody  is  so  ready  in  conversation ;  if  he  chooses 
to  be  silent  it  is  because  something  jars,  offends 
his  taste.  If  he  sometimes  seems  to  give  himself 
away,  it  is  because  he  enjoys  ease,  abandon,  laisser- 
aller.  He  commits  himself  to  verbal  absurdity, 


166  THE  EEVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

just  as  a  different  man  likes  to  stretch  himself  out 
and  put  his  feet  on  the  table.  He  has  not  only  an 
artistic  but  a  scientific  appreciation  of  the  good 
things  of  life.  He  likes  everything  of  the  best, 
from  a  dinner  to  a  woman's  gown,  manners,  voice. 
You  cannot  begin  to  think,  dear,  how  nice  his  taste 
is  about  women." 

A  sob  startled  her.  Kitty's  hand,  clasped  in 
hers,  had  suddenly  grown  icy  cold. 

"  Now  I  must  dress,"  said  Constance,  first  draw 
ing  her  child  closer,  kissing  her  on  her  lips  and 
eyes,  and  then  releasing  her. 

It  was  the  signal  of  dismissal  to  Kitty,  but,  left 
alone,  Constance  was  besieged  by  doubts  and  fears. 
Had  she  not  said  too  much  ?  Had  she  not  possibly 
vitalized  what  had  before  had  only  the  most 
shadowy  and  problematical  existence  ?  Her  habit 
of  counteracting  a  tendency  by  a  word,  of  hedg 
ing  off  one  danger  by  opening  up  some  attractive 
and  safer  vista,  had  led  her  to  act  with  promptness ; 
but  had  she  not  obeyed  the  quick  dread  of  her 
prophetic  mind  instead  of  proceeding  on  a  cool, 
rational  plan  ? 

It  humiliated  her  that  all  through  this  interview 
with  Kitty  the  thought  of  Mrs.  Darrow  had  in 
truded  itself.  Yesterday  she  had  been  ready  to 
smile  at  Mrs.  Darrow's  questioning  whether  Con 
stance  was  bracing  her  daughter  for  life  by  a  clear 
fore-knowledge  of  her  own  needs,  her  own  possibili 
ties.  This  experience  mocked  Constance,  as  if  it 
were  Mrs.  Darrow's  triumphant  repartee. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

THE   NEW-FOUND    WINGS    AKE    CLIPPED. 

SHE  found  Kitty  at  the  table  presently,  making 
coffee  for  her  uncle,  who  had  to  go  to  town.  Five 
minutes  later  John  Haliburton,  followed  by  Glen- 
denning  Eennie,  walked  in  through  the  open  French 
window.  To  see  Glen  entering  in  a  Norfolk 
jacket  and  knickerbockers  of  brown  velveteen  was 
to  Constance  like  coming  out  of  a  painful  night 
mare  to  find  the  object  of  the  bad  dream  smiling  at 
her  bedside.  The  two  men  had  come  to  invite  the 
marchesa,  Kitty,  and  Kichard  Amory,  to  go  on  a 
picnic  excursion  to  Governor's  Seat.  John  was  to 
drive  Ambury  Darrow's  four-in-hand,  while  Teddy 
was  to  conduct  his  mother  and  her  three  guests  in 
their  high  drag. 

Richard  Amory  pleaded  business,  and  set  off  for 
the  station  in  the  pony-carriage  which  was  waiting. 
Constance  accepted  Haliburton's  invitation  for  her 
self  and  Kitty. 

"  If  I  had  asked  you  to  go  with  me,  should  you 
have  accepted,  Conny  ?  "  Glen  inquired,  with  child 
like  naivete. 

"  Do  you  mean  if  you  held  the  reins  ?  " 

"Of  course." 


168  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

"I  do  not,  perhaps,  love  my  life  more  than  other 
people  love  theirs,  but  I  confess  I  should  n't  like  to 
put  it,  much  less  Kitty's,  at  the  mercy  of  your 
possibly  not  knowing  your  right  hand  from  your 
left."  * 

"  Now  that  is  just  the  difference  between  me  and 
John,"  said  Glen,  as  if  highly  flattered.  "  He 
looks  responsible ;  I  don't  look  responsible.  The 
fact  is,  I  cultivate  a  sort  of  devil-may-care  irre 
sponsibility  simply  because  I  don't  wish  to  be  bored. 
But  it  does  amuse  me  to  see  how  everybody  is  im 
posed  upon  by  John  —  except  me,  that  is  :  I  know 
him.  A  man  is  no  hero  to  his  chum,  —  to  the 
fellow  who  has  to  steal  down  in  the  mellow  mid 
night  and  bring  him  up  pies  and  bottles  of  beer. 
I  help  him  out  all  I  can,  inflate  his  balloon,  act  as  if 
I,  too,  believed  in  him.  He  has  a  way  of  looking 
at  times  as  if  he  were  going  to  say  something 
uncommonly  shrewd ;  but  I  put  it  to  you,  Conny, 
does  he  ever  say  it,  unless,  that  is,  I  am  by  to  give 
him  a  hint  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we  know  how  clever  you  are,  Glen,  —  just 
like  one  of  those  dogs  who  are  too  clever  to  learn 
tricks." 

"  It  needs  a  stupid,  well-meaning  dog  like  John 
to  sit  on  his  tail  and  give  his  fore  paw,"  said  Glen. 
"  Everybody  thinks  what  a  husband  and  father 
of  a  family  he  will  make.  I  suppose  he  has 
announced  his  approaching  marriage  to  you  ?  " 

"  Come,  Glen,"  said  Haliburton. 

"  See  him  blush !     He  need  n't  pretend  he  and 


THE  NEW-FOUND    WINGS  AEE  CLIPPED.      169 

she  did  n't  make  it  up  together  last  night  in  the 
garden.  I  saw  her  give  him  a  flower.  I  saw  it 
with  my  own  eyes.  I  give  you  my  word,  Conny, 
that  Gatty  and  I  have  been  perfectly  worn  out,  of 
late,  playing  propriety,  —  following  John  and  Sue 
about  until  I  am  ready  to  drop,  and  have  to  plead 
invalidism,  and  tell  them  it  is  time  for  me  to  be  in 
my  bed.  Just  keep  an  eye  on  them  to-day.  In 
fact,  I  arranged  this  drive  and  picnic  in  order  to 
give  them  a  chance.  Sue  says  John  is  shy,  — needs 
to  be  encouraged,  brought  forward." 

"  You  see,  marchesa,"  Haliburton  put  in,  "  Glen 
owes  Miss  Darrow  such  a  debt  of  gratitude  for 
nursing  him  that  week  he  was  ill,  it  disturbs  his 
conscience.  He  wants  me  to  pay  it." 

"  Nobody  wants  to  marry  me,"  said  Glen, 
"  whereas  every  sensible  woman  wants  to  marry 
John.  He  ought  to  be  permitted  to  have  twenty 
wives." 

"  One  wiU  suffice,  I  thank  you." 

"  All  I  am  insisting  on  is  that  you  shall  begin, 
at  any  rate,  by  marrying  Sue.  In  fact,  I  consider 
that  matter  settled.  I  will  tell  Ambury  to  fix  the 
day,  and  John  shall  be  ready."  Glen  had  an 
nounced,  on  entering,  that  he  had  got  well  at  a 
gallop.  He  was  apparently  not  only  in  fine  health, 
bat  in  the  highest  possible  spirits ;  and,  after 
Haliburton  had  gone  back  to  his  own  house  to  con 
clude  his  preparations,  Glen  sat  with  Constance 
and  Kitty,  drinking  an  extra  cup  of  coffee  to  keep 
them  company  as  they  ate  their  breakfast,  all  the 


170  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

time  discussing  what  he  called  "  John's  marriage," 
and  speculating  what  Dilsey  and  his  wife  would 
say  and  do,  with  a  whim  and  audacity  which  made 
Kitty's  rather  pale  face  light  up  into  color,  smiles, 
and  laughter. 

So  far  as  Constance  had  observed,  —  and  all  her 
faculties  were  alert,  —  the  only  time  Glen  had 
addressed  Kitty  particularly  had  been  on  his  en 
trance,  when  he  had  said,  "  Well,  monkey,  why 
have  you  put  your  braids  on  top  of  your  head  ?  " 

Constance  was  nervously  on  guard,  and  yet 
anxious  to  show  no  watchfulness.  She  tingled 
still,  as  from  a  blow ;  but  little  by  little  her  fear 
that  there  was  something  real  to  be  dreaded  died 
away.  If  Kitty  had  at  first  dropped  her  eyelids 
and  looked  pale  and  weary,  by  this  time  either  she 
had  turned  her  thrill  of  mortification  into  a  spur 
or  she  had  forgotten.  At  any  rate  Constance 
rejoiced  that  she  showed  no  wounded  egoism,  no 
soreness  of  feeling,  —  was  evidently  bent  on  not 
behaving  foolishly.  The  two  set  about  packing  a 
hamper  for  the  picnic,  Glen  calling  for  unheard- 
of  delicacies,  —  pate  de  foie  gras,  potted  shrimps, 
stuffed  anchovies,  caviare,  and  the  like.  But  when 
they  went  upstairs  finally  to  dress  for  the  drive, 
Kitty  put  her  hands  on  her  mother's  shoulder,  and 
said,  — 

"  Should  you  rather  have  me  stay  at  home, 
mamma?  " 

"  Stay  at  home  ?  All  my  pleasure  in  going  is 
that  you  will  go." 


THE  NEW-FOUND    WINGS  ABE  CLIPPED.      171 

"  I  thought  perhaps  "  — 

"  Do  not  think ;  that  is,  do  not  think  anything 
except  that  we  have  always  done  everything  to 
gether  ;  that  we  have  no  comfort  except  in  doing 
everything  together.  I  care  for  nothing  without 
my  Kitty ;  I  want  my  Kitty  to  care  for  nothing 
without  me." 

They  laughed  as  they  clung  to  each  other,  with 
eyes  brimming  over.  But  the  hands  Constance 
pressed  still  quivered,  and  she  felt  that  although 
Kitty  was  in  her  arms,  somehow  she  did  not  wholly 
hold  her,  —  that  what  she  said  did  not  reach  her. 

She  postponed  all  analysis  of  the  situation,  how 
ever,  saying  to  herself  that  she  had  had  no  time 
really  to  think  it  over.  This  state  of  mind  was 
altogether  new.  Kitty's  being  in  love  with  Glen 
was  not  so  much  what  troubled  her  as  that  the 
young  girl  was  thinking  of  love  at  all.  She  had 
known  that  Kitty  was  ardent,  inflammable  in  her 
likes,  spending  passion  011  her  love  of  books,  of 
music,  of  everything  out  of  doors.  That  she  had 
apprehended  any  needs  or  wishes  beyond  these  lim 
itations  was  a  rebuke  to  Constance,  since  she  be 
lieved  that  a  girl's  unsolicited  intensity  of  feeling 
for  a  man  could  only  be  the  result  of  not  knowing 
what  else  to  do  with  her  faculties  and  powers. 

Then,  again,  she  caught  herself  up  as  her  mind 
turned  these  thoughts  over  and  over,  and  said  that 
she  must  wait,  must  watch,  must  consider.  She  told 
Kitty  to  put  on  her  white  serge  suit,  and  observed 
with  satisfaction  that  the  young  girl  dressed  at 


172  THE  EEVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

her  usual  scamper,  without  any  of  the  delibera 
tion  of  a  woman  who  is  conscious  that  she  is  pre 
sently  to  meet  a  man  before  whom  she  is  anxious  to 
appear  at  her  best.  She  looked  charming,  never 
theless.  The  white  serge  jacket,  just  touched  with 
black  velvet  at  neck,  belt,  and  wrist,  became  her ; 
also  the  white  sailor  hat  wound  about  with  a  scarf 
of  fleecy  white.  Constance  said  to  herself  there 
was  no  commonplace  vanity  in  her  daughter  as  she 
came  up,  asking :  — 

"  Shall  I  do,  mamma  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  wall  do,"  Constance  returned, 
looking  her  over. 

Kitty's  eyes  dropped  before  hers. 

"  I  am  afraid,  my  child,  you  are  tormenting 
yourself  a  little." 

"  A  little,  mamma." 

"  Try  to  rise  above  it.  Say  to  yourself,  '  It  is 
so  sood  to  live  in  this  world.'  Life  is  too  short 

O 

even  to  begin  to  feel  how  lovely  and  interesting  it 
all  is.  Especially  life  is  too  short  for  us  to  love  and 
do  for  those  who  are  close  and  near  to  us.  And 
remember  that  there  is  one  certain  misery,  —  that 
is  to  think  first  of  ourselves  ;  and  that  there  is  one 
certain  happiness,  —  that  is  to  live  for  others." 

Kitty  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  her  mother  as  she 
spoke,  as  if  a  conviction  of  the  truth  of  her  words 
was  penetrating  her.  Constance  told  her  to  go 
down,  and  she  would  follow  presently.  When  she 
descended,  she  saw  that  Mrs.  Edward  Darrow's 
equipage  was  on  the  drive  below  the  terrace. 


THE  NEW-FOUND    WINGS  ARE  CLIPPED.      173 

Teddy  was  talking  with  Kitty.  He  ran  eagerly 
towards  Constance  as  she  emerged  from  the  house. 

"Marchesa,"  he  said,  "my  mother  begs  the 
favor  that  you  will  let  Miss  Kitty  go  with  us. 
The  coach  is  rather  full." 

Constance  looked  at  Kitty. 

"May  I  not  go  with  Mrs.  Edward  Darrow?" 
the  girl  asked,  with  an  animation  almost  equal  to 
Teddy's. 

Constance  was  conscious  not  only  of  a  fresh  sur 
prise,  but  of  a  sharp  sense  of  disappointment ;  still 
there  was  nothing  else  to  do  except  to  acquiesce 
in  this  arrangement.  She  stood  watching  Kitty 
as,  just  touching  Teddy's  hand,  she  sprang  to  the 
seat  in  front,  meeting  Mrs.  Edward  Darrow's  greet 
ings  with  a  pleased,  graceful  glance  of  recognition. 
Teddy  followed  ;  the  man  at  the  head  of  the  spir 
ited  horses  jumped  \ip  behind,  and  they  were  off. 
Again  Constance  suffered  the  return  of  the  sen 
sation  that  something  interposed  between  her  and 
Kitty ;  she  missed  the  cheerful  warmth  of  the 
companionship  that  made  her  life.  Still,  she  ex 
ulted  that  Kitty  looked  so  well,  and  confessed  to 
herself  that  there  was  a  certain  fittingness  in  the 
way  she  contrasted  with  the  strong,  active  young 
man.  Until  to-day  Constance  had  eagerly  watched 
for  the  woman  in  her  child ;  now  she  even  more 
longingly  watched  for  the  child  looking  out  of  the 
woman.  She  was  so  taken  possession  of  by  these 
new  ideas,  fancies,  alarms,  that  she  stood  almost 
forgetting  where  she  was  or  what  was  happening. 


174  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

Somebody  addressed  her,  and  she  turned.  It  was 
Glen. 

"  So  Kitty  has  gone  off  with  that  young  don 
key,"  he  exclaimed,  with  intense  dissatisfaction. 
"  Do  you  trust  his  driving  ?  " 

"  I  trust  nothing  and  nobody,"  Constance  re 
plied,  with  a  half  laugh.  "  I  did  not  like  it  at  all. 
I  dare  say  he  knows  how  to  di'ive ;  he  has  driven 
all  his  life.  But  I  do  not  approve  of  Kitty's  doing 
anything  without  me.  I  feel  like  the  hen  with  a 
chick  that  turns  out  a  duck  and  takes  to  water." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Glen.  "  I  got  up  the  picnic 
because  I  felt  like  behaving  as  if  I  were  ten  years 
old.  I  was  inclined  to  climb  trees  and  wade  in 
the  brook.  Everybody  save  Kitty  is  so  old,  —  or, 
if  not  old,  so  wise.  Oh,  how  I  hate  that  floppy 
tadpole  of  a  boy." 

Constance  laughed  and  turned  to  Glen  as  he 
spoke,  and  he  was  startled  by  the  dewy  brilliance 
of  her  eyes  and  the  bright  spot  of  color  burning  on 
each  cheek.  It  now  occurred  to  him  that  she  real 
ized  something  momentous  in  Kitty's  going  with 
Teddy,  perhaps  detecting  in  him  an  aspirant  for 
Kitty's  favor  ;  that  she  was  startled,  if  not  dis 
pleased.  He  himself  was  conscious  of  missing  all 
that  was  to  have  given  the  expedition  zest  and 
flavor.  Here  was  Kitty,  who  had  of  late  seemed 
to  have  eyes  and  ears  only  for  himself,  changing 
the  whole  order  of  things,  upsetting  all  his  wishes 
and  calculations.  No  wonder  Glen  was  flatly  dis 
gusted,  and  although  at  this  moment  he  was  look- 


THE  NEW-FOUND    WINGS  ABE  CLIPPED.      175 

ing  at  the  marcliesa,  quite  conscious  of  her  beauty, 
he  was  not  thinking  at  all  of  the  woman  who  had 
been  his  first  love,  his  enchantress,  but  only  of 
his  own  little  Kitty  who  had  deserted  him  for  that 
stolid  athlete. 

But  Haliburton,  with  the  three  Misses  Darrow 
and  their  party,  was  waiting  ;  the  four  horses  were 
prancing,  curveting,  feeling  the  wind  in  their  faces 
and  longing  to  be  free.  Constance  was  lifted  to 
the  box.  Glen  clambered  in  beside  Agatha,  up 
sprang  the  two  grooms,  and  off  they  went. 

"  Are  you  quite  well,  marchesa  ?  "  Haliburton 
said,  bending  towards  Constance. 

"  Oh,  quite  well,  — perhaps  not  talkative." 

"  You  shall  have  silence,  then." 

"  Oh,  you  shall  talk." 

"  I  never  do  talk,  you  know,  —  and  certainly 
not  to-day,  when  I  see  that  something  is  troubling 
you." 

There  had  been  a  thunder-shower  the  afternoon 
before,  everything  had  been  freshened  by  the  rain, 
and  to-day  the  air  seemed  pure  and  clear,  as  if  it 
blew  from  a  mountain  top.  Masses  of  the  whitest, 
fleeciest  vapor  passed  from  shape  to  shape,  the 
vagrant  impulses  of  the  wind  keeping  them  in  full 
motion.  On  both  sides  of  the  road  were  pleasant 
country  places,  with  soft,  level  lawns,  shrubberies, 
and  flower-beds  in  which  were  massed  blossoms  that 
made  a  blaze  of  color.  Alternating  with  these  coun 
try-seats  were  spaces  of  real  sylvan  woodland  and 
sunny  pasture  lands.  They  were  gaining  higher 


17G  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

and  higher  views  as  they  went  on,  and  could  see  far 
ther  and  farther  reaches  of  the  great  billowy  land 
scape  rolling  away  to  the  horizon,  crested  here  and 
there  with  forest  or  make-believe  castellated  and 
battlemented  tower.  The  post  of  honor  had  been 
yielded  to  the  marchesa,  but  Miss  Darrow,  sitting 
just  behind  her,  was  not  unobservant  of  the  very  in 
different  acknowledgment  made  by  the  chief  guest 
of  the  civility  paid  her.  Constance  sat  with  the 
fine  graciousness  which  always  characterized  her; 
she  looked  well,  if  not  at  her  best,  in  her  walking- 
hat  with  plumes  and  silk  dust-cloak  ;  but  she 
made  not  the  slightest  effort  to  entertain  Ilalibur- 
ton,  although  from  time  to  time  he  glanced  towards 
her,  then,  seeing  only  her  profile,  looked  away. 

Sue's  instincts  were  all  awake :  John  was  driving 
her  father's  horses  ;  he  was  doing  his  best ;  that 
he  should  have  no  reward  pained  her.  To  see 
any  possible  breach  was  for  Miss  Darrow  to  be 
impelled  to  fling  herself  in ;  accordingly  she  ad 
dressed  herself  to  the  task  which  the  marchesa 
slighted,  not  to  say  shirked.  Leaning  forward  she 
began  to  talk,  and  talked,  as  she  always  talked, 
fluently  and  well.  She  was  as  various  as  are  the 
scraps  of  information  which  are  put  under  the 
general  head  of  "  Things  wise  and  otherwise  "  in 
a  newspaper  column.  Thus  Haliburton,  for  whom 
Constance's  mood  possessed  the  charm  and  mys 
tery  of  a  night  with  stars  shining,  found  his  ears 
assailed  by  Miss  Darrow's  views  on  the  subject  of 
whether  sugar-beet  raising  would  be  likely  to  pay  ; 


THE  NEW-FOUND   WINGS  ARE  CLIPPED.      Ill 

how  the  rural  population  could  best  be  kept  con 
tented  in  the  country,  and  other  modern  problems. 
Constance  presently  grew  interested.  It  was  in 
fact  so  little  her  habit  to  feel  there  were  no  social 
demands  upon  her,  it  had  seemed  like  the  veriest 
self-indulgence  to  sit  quiet,  looking  at  the  land 
scape,  not  thinking,  —  only  feeling.  Nothing  had 
happened  to  warrant  this  alarm,  this  passionate 
surprise  that  fate  was  overtaking  her.  She  made 
an  effort  to  regain  her  ordinary  poise,  and  soon 
was  quite  her  usual  self. 

Twice  Teddy's  drag  allowed  the  coach  to  pass  it 
so  that  the  occupants  could  exchange  greetings. 
Glen  each  time  devoted  himself  to  blowing  the 
horn  with  a  triumphant  air. 

"How  well  Kitty  looks  to-day,"  Sue  Darrow 
said,  addressing  Constance.  "  Quite  the  conven 
tional  young  lady." 

"  Like  a  little  blue-blooded  gr ancle  dame,"  said 
Gatty. 

"  The  black  and  white  of  her  dress  seems  to 
throw  her  into  high  relief,"  said  Millicent. 

"  And  all  that,"  said  Glen,  with  intense  disgust, 
"  is  being  wasted  on  Teddy  Darrow." 

"  She  is  not  thrown  away  on  Teddy,"  observed 
Haliburton. 

"  I  was  thinking  how  well  she  and  Teddy  were 
contrasted,"  said  Agatha. 

"  You  mean  she  is  cut  like  an  intaglio  in  a  gem ; 
he  is  unhewn  rough  stone  !  "  Glen  observed. 

"  Teddy  may  be  rough-hewn,  but  he  will  come 
out  all  right,"  Agatha  returned. 


178  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

"  Teddy  is  not  dull ;  Teddy  is  rather  clever  in  his 
way,"  Sue  affirmed,  and  her  sisters  followed  suit. 

"  Teddy  is  so  honest,  so  true,  so  single-hearted." 

"  Poppa  says  he  knows  nobody  more  likely  to 
succeed  in  life  than  Teddy." 

"  Oh,  I  grant  all  that,"  said  Glen,  "  and  also 
that  Teddy  is  a  capital  youngster,  full  of  ability, 
good  sense,  and  heart.  The  only  thing  is,  I  hate 
youngsters  treading  on  our  toes.  I  should  like  to 
proclaim  a  massacre  of  the  innocents." 

Teddy,  meanwhile,  quite  unwitting  of  Glen's 
jealousy,  was  conscious  of  an  intoxication,  —  at 
least  something  had  gone  to  his  head.  Pie  liked 
the  day  which  maintained  its  freshness ;  he  enjoyed 
the  breeze  cooler  than  the  general  air.  His  horses 
pulled  at  their  bits,  and,  superadded  to  the  satisfac 
tion  in  having  them  perfectly  under  his  control, 
was  the  thrill  of  having  Kitty  for  the  first  time 
actually  within  reach,  to  be  looked  at,  studied, 
talked  to. 

Usually  Kitty  was  so  elusive  she  suggested  a 
winged  creature,  a  bird,  a  butterfly,  sometimes 
something  perilously  endowed  with  a  sting.  To 
day  the  puzzling,  comfortless,  but  fascinating  crea 
ture  he  had  so  often  followed  up  in  vain  was  more 
accessible.  Her  well-gloved  little  hands  lay  folded 
in  her  lap  ;  her  gaze  was  fixed  on  the  horizon. 
When  they  passed  and  repassed  the  coach,  she 
exchanged  a  smile  with  her  mother,  but  looked  at 
no  one  else.  Yet  in  spite  of  her  quietude  she  was 
exquisitely  polite,  replying  to  everybody's  civil 


THE  NEW-FOUND    WINGS  ABE  CLIPPED.      179 

speeches  with  Jier  characteristic  touch  of  foreign 
warmth  and  grace.  There  was  always  just  enough 
of  this  suggestion  of  a  different  breeding,  a  differ 
ent  race  in  Kitty  to  compel  the  admiration  of  the 
matter-of-fact,  rather  wooden  Teddy ;  —  a  simpler 
elegance  than  that  of  others,  a  trifle  more  of  ges 
ture,  of  accentuation  of  speech.  He  felt,  too,  rather 
than  saw,  that  in  her  nature  there  was  more  color 
than  in  his  mother's,  for  example,  a  promise  that 
she  would  ultimately  develop  into  all  that  was 
most  attractive. 

Nevertheless,  Teddy  saw  to-day,  with  some  alarm 
mixed  with  his  admiration,  that  the  young  lady  was 
maturing  rapidly.  He  was  not  ready  to  have  her 
quite  grown  up  yet.  He  wished  to  have  her  halt 
just  on  the  threshold  of  womanhood.  His  own 
dependence  and  limitations  were  impressed  not 
only  upon  his  own  consciousness,  but  upon  that  of 
others,  by  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Edward  Darrow  - 
a  large,  serene  woman,  who  liked  subservience, 
could  not  always  command  it,  so  enforced  it  when 
it  was  possible.  She  adored  her  son,  yet  she  gov 
erned  him  and  intended  to  govern  him.  She  had 
assented  when  Teddy  had  begged  her  to  take  Kitty 
to-day.  The  girl's  air  of  distinction  and  vivid 
look  were  not  lost  upon  Mrs.  Edward  Darrow. 
She  and  the  marchesa  were  exactly  of  the  same 
age.  She  had  been  Constance  Amory's  brides 
maid  when  she  married  her  cousin  Philip  twenty- 
two  years  before,  and  ten  days  later  she  herself 
had  become  the  bride  of  Edward  Darrow.  Now 


180  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

they  were  both  widows,  and  she  was  more  than  a 
little  curious  about  the  marchesa,  wondering  at  her 
freshness,  her  versatility,  her  apparent  lightness 
of  heart  as  well  as  brightness  of  mind.  Experi 
ence  seemed  to  have  braced  and  freshened  Con 
stance,  while  Mrs.  Edward  Darrow,  despite  an 
unlimited  income,  two  regular  establishments,  be 
sides  a  seaside  cottage,  frequent  trips  to  Europe, 
and  seasons  in  London,  had  found  life  rather  a 
meaningless  affair,  meeting  everywhere  the  same 
dullness  and  the  heavy  conviction  that  she  failed  in 
impressiveness.  She  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
thinking  that  if  poor  Edward  had  only  lived,  all 
would  have  been  so  different ;  but  here  was  Con 
stance  Bertini,  not  only  a  widow  but  a  poor  widow, 
who  had  never  in  her  life  had  more  than  three 
thousand  a  year ;  yet  everybody  seemed  to  be  so 
tremendously  struck  by  her.  Perhaps  Kitty  might 
inherit  some  of  her  mother's  distinction  and  be 
come  an  imposing  wife  for  Teddy. 

However,  Teddy  was  still  a  boy  ;  he  was  her 
son  ;  he  had  nothing  but  what  she  chose  to  allow 
him ;  he  was  now  driving  her  horses.  In  spite  of 
her  smooth  contours  and  large  serenity,  Mrs.  Ed 
ward  Darrow  was  the  victim  of  nervous  terrors 
and  was  constantly  saying,  — 

"  Teddy,  Teddy,  slow  up  a  little." 

"  Now,  Teddy,  do  not  take  that  turn  as  sharply 
as  you  did  the  last." 

"  Teddy,  don't  forget  that  Wellington  will  not 
take  the  whip.  Give  Bliicher  the  least  touch." 


THE  NEW-FOUND    WINGS  AEE  CLIPPED.      181 

The  pair  in  front  behaved  with  compact  simpli 
city.  Teddy  made  an  occasional  remark,  to  which 
Kitty  responded  by  "  Yes  "  or  "  No."  It  had  been 
a  relief  to  accept  the  invitation  to  join  the  Edward 
Darrows.  When  Glen  had  come  in  at  breakfast, 
her  heart  began  to  beat  so  fast,  she  was  so  filled 
with  something  half  pain,  half  joyful  emotion,  that 
she  had  hardly  permitted  herself  to  look  up.  If 
she  had  met  his  glance  and  smile  she  was  sure  she 
must  have  laughed  or  cried.  As  it  was,  nobody 
had  observed  that  her  hands  trembled,  that  her 
lips  fell  apart,  that  she  almost  uttered  a  gasp.  So, 
having  suffered,  it  was  something  not  to  renew  the 
ordeal.  Her  mother's  seriousness  had  given  her  a 
vague  alarm.  She  had  no  thought  of  playing 
a  coquettish  trick  by  coming  with  Teddy.  She 
was  so  utterly  inexperienced,  it  was  impossible  for 
her  to  understand  clearly  just  in  what  she  was  at 
fault.  She  had  promised  her  mother  something ; 
she  hardly  knew  what  it  was.  She  had  not  pro 
mised  not  to  go  on  loving  Glen,  —  indeed  the  mar- 
chesa  had  granted  that  everybody  loved  cousin 
Glen.  One  would  need  to  be  eighteen,  —  to  have 
taken  the  outside  things  of  life  with  a  joyful  super 
ficiality  of  pleasure,  to  have  been  kept  from  over- 
inquisitive  questionings,  from  morbid  introspec 
tion,  by  constant  association  with  a  mind  which 
guided  and  strengthened ;  yet  suddenly  to  have  had 
a  hint  of  what  life  is  and  to  have  entered  into  the 
new  idea  with  an  enthusiasm  of  feeling,  an  ardor  of 
curiosity,  —  in  order  to  know  what  Kitty's  impulse 


182  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

had  been.  She  had  fallen  under  the  charm  of 
Glen's  easy  good  looks.  He  had  of  late  sought  her 
more  and  more  when  he  was  in  a  light-hearted  state 
of  mind,  and  would  tell  her  such  absurd  adventures 
he  had  passed  through,  such  amusing  made-up 
stories,  they  would  both  laugh  irresistibly.  Some 
times  even  when  he  talked  seriously  it  had  been 
enough  to  watch  the  motion  of  his  lips,  the  look 
of  his  eyes  ;  she  had  smiled  with  delight.  It  was 
in  Kitty's  nature  always  to  do  something  ;  not  to 
be  content  to  sit  still  and  acquiesce  with  folded 
hands.  When  Glen  had  confessed  to  her  that  he 
was  unhappy,  it  had  seemed  to  her  a  very  natural 
and  inevitable  thing  that  she  should  marry  him 
and  make  him  happy. 

However,  her  mother  had  given  her  an  inkling 
of  how  wildly  out  of  reason  her  impulse  was.  Her 
mood,  at  present,  was  timid  and  irresolute.  It  was 
a  cause  for  gratitude  that  Glen  knew  nothing 
about  her  talk  with  her  mother.  The  important 
thing  was  so  to  behave  that  he  should  never  know 
anything  about  it.  Once  or  twice  a  secret  sense 
that  he  liked  her  —  liked  her  quite  as  much  as 
she  liked  him  —  had  passed  through  her  like  an 
electric  thrill.  But  what  she  felt  to-day  was  that 
she  wished  not  to  see  him,  —  at  least  not  to  see 
him  and  be  obliged  to  meet  his  glances,  his  ques 
tionings.  For  he  would  question  her  if  he  saw 
the  least  change  in  her ;  of  that  she  was  certain. 
He  noticed  everything  —  her  hair,  her  eyes,  her 
feet,  her  frock;  he  laughed  at  everything  he  could, 


THE  NEW-FOUND    WINGS  ABE   CLIPPED.      183 

but  behind  that  laugh  was  an  interest  in  the 
slightest  thing  that  belonged  to  her.  Once  she 
had  scratched  her  hand,  and  it  bled  slightly  ;  she 
herself  had  hardly  noticed  it,  —  she  was  always 
scratching  her  hand.  But  the  moment  she  passed 
through  the  hall  where  he  was  sitting,  as  if  he  had 
eyes  in  the  back  of  his  head,  he  cried  out,  — 

"  Kitty,  how  did  you  hurt  your  hand  ?  Come 
here." 

So  now,  if  he  were  to  be  within  reach  of  her 
he  would  say,  "  Kitty,  what  has  come  over  you?" 
and  it  would  all  have  to  be  told.  His  very  glance 
drew  from  her  all  he  wished  to  know. 

She  had  suffered  acutely  ;  but  although  when 
one  is  eighteen  one  suffers  acutely,  one  experiences 
promptly  the  reaction  from  suffering.  Dreams, 
thoughts,  aspirations,  prayers,  each  developed  out 
of  a  single  sensation,  and,  bringing  its  own  inter 
pretation  of  her  need,  had  lifted  up  her  soul  into 
a  sort  of  exaltation.  Her  mother's  smile  was 
like  an  inspiration.  It  was  only  now,  when  she 
had  separated  herself  for  an  hour  from  her  mother, 
that  she  comprehended  how  she  could  miss  her,  — 
feel  the  need  of  her.  Glen  suddenly  began  to 
seem  afar  off.  Most  probably  it  was  as  the  mar- 
chesa  had  said,  —  she  had  shocked,  even  bored 
him.  What  did  it  matter  ?  What  did  anything 
matter  ?  The  depth  and  wonder  of  the  blue  of 
the  sky  set  off  by  the  soft  fleecy  clouds  driven  like 
a  flock  of  sheep  before  the  wind,  the  swift  motion, 
the  rush  of  the  delicious  air,  the  easy  and  dexterous 


184     THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

way  Teddy  managed  his  horses,  all  helped  to  give 
her  a  new  equilibrium  of  feeling.  Even  the  recol 
lection  that  she  had,  as  it  were,  asserted  her 
strength  and  independence  was  a  stimulus.  It  was 
no  longer  of  herself  or  her  own  wishes  of  which  she 
was  thinking,  but  of  the  beauty  of  the  fields  of 
corn  hanging  out  their  pennants  in  the  sunlight ; 
of  the  reaping-machine,  with  sickles  revolving  like 
the  sails  of  a  windmill  as  they  cut  the  wheat  on 
the  far  hillside,  flashing  in  the  sun  as  they  tossed 
the  golden  swaths,  —  of  the  way  the  patient  cattle 
sought  the  shade.  All  these  glimpses  into  the  real 
uses  and  activities  of  every-day  life  helped  her  to 
forget  her  excitement  of  feeling.  She  grew  in 
terested.  It  was  no  longer  in  her  power  to  keep 
silence.  She  remembered  the  fields  of  wheat  far 
away  in  Tuscany,  —  divided  and  subdivided,  — 
and  the  gleam  of  the  scarlet  poppies  through  the 
little  forest  of  green  blades  of  grain.  She  found 
Teddy  a  most  interested  listener  as  she  described 
the  lives  her  dear  old  peasants  led.  They  accom 
plished  so  much  with  so  little  that  she  was  amazed 
at  the  profusion,  the  amplitude,  of  everything  here. 
She  told  him  about  the  father  and  mother  of  their 
old  servant  Beppo,  who  lived  on  a  rocky  terrace, 
and  how  they  carried  up  earth  in  hottes  to  fill  all 
the  interstices,  and  how  they  planted,  in  the  droll 
est  little  out-of-the-way  places,  olives,  figs,  mul 
berries,  and  the  wheat  out  of  which,  in  winter,  the 
women  plaited  beautiful  straw. 

Teddy  thought  nothing  had  ever  been  so  beau- 


THE  NEW-FOUND    WINGS  ARE  CLIPPED.      185 

tiful  and  vivid  as  Kitty's  face  while  she  talked. 
A  young  fellow's  love  is  not  of  the  eloquent  sort ; 
but  in  telling  her  that  he  should  like  to  show  her 
some  of  the  great  fields  of  grain  in  the  West  and 
Southwest,  he  seemed  to  find  a  way  of  expressing 
some  of  the  rapture  with  which  she  filled  him. 

The  four-in-hand,  after  finally  passing  Teddy's 
single  pair,  had  beaten  in  the  race  by  twenty  min 
utes.  When  Kitty  came  in  sight  of  the  old  colonial 
place  where  they  were  to  picnic,  Glen  Rennie  was 
standing  with  her  mother  on  the  top  of  the  steps, 
waiting.  Kitty  looked  at  Glen  one  moment,  and 
knew  that  all  her  thoughts  and  feelings  during  the 
drive  were  nothing  —  nothing  at  all.  The  smile 
he  gave  her  penetrated  and  illumined  her  whole 
consciousness ;  yet,  with  a  painful  sensation,  she 
looked  away  and  met  her  mother's  anxious  glance. 
As  Constance  saw  her  child  approach,  she  involun 
tarily  reached  out  her  arm.  Teddy  drew  up  the 
horses  sharply  at  the  same  moment,  and,  almost 
without  touching  any  support,  Kitty  flew  down  from 
her  perch.  She  experienced  such  comfort  in  her 
mother's  smile  and  in  her  embrace,  she  appeared 
to  forget  even  that  Glen  stood  looking  at  her  and 
waiting  to  speak  to  her.  The  little  separation 
seemed  to  have  set  everything  to  rights  between 
Kitty  and  the  marchesa.  The  latter  permitted, 
rather  than  accepted,  the  caresses  so  ardently 
lavished,  laughing  at  the  sort  of  fury  with  which 
they  were  bestowed ;  and  when  Kitty  drew  her 
away,  trying  with  all  the  little  arts  she  knew  to 


186  THE  EEVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

make  her  mother  look  at  her  and  speak  to  her, 
Constance's  heart  swelled  with  pride  and  pleasure. 
She,  too,  forgot  Glen  Rennie,  who,  with  a  shrug 
at  his  own  insignificance,  offered  his  arm  to  Mrs. 
Edward  Darrow,  who  asked  him  to  show  her  the 
house.  Millicent  Darrow  was  marshaling  the  party ; 
she  had  prepared  a  lecture  on  the  historical  aspects 
of  the  old  estate  called  Governor's  Seat.  The 
dwelling  was  of  stone,  with  a  massive  penthouse 
in  front,  and  the  ample  doorway  opened  into  a  wide 
hall  and  great  square  rooms  with  wonderful  fire 
places.  But  the  house  itself  was  rather  musty  with 
its  antiquity.  The  garden,  with  its  box-bordered 
paths,  and  the  long  avenues  of  trees  were  better 
worth  enjoying  on  this  summer's  day. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    SECRET   OF   THE   WATERFALL. 

"  WHEN  we  have  licked  the  platters  quite  clean," 
Glen  said  in  Kitty's  ear,  as  they  were  finishing 
luncheon,  "  I  am  going  to  take  you  down  to  the 
waterfall." 

Kitty  blushed  and  dropped  her  eyes. 

"  I  think  I  promised  to  go  with  Teddy,"  she  said 
under  her  breath. 

Glen  making  no  answer,  Kitty  presently  lifted 
her  glance.  As  her  eyes  met  Glen's,  her  heart 
seemed  to  bound  into  her  throat  and  almost  choked 
her. 

"You  promised  to  go  with  Teddy? "  he  said. 

"Yes." 

Glen  drew  back  and  presently  had  the  satisfac 
tion  of  seeing  Kitty  walk  down  the  old  garden 
with  the  good-looking  youngster.  They  were  fol 
lowed  by  the  marchesa  and  John  Haliburton. 

"  Will  you  join  the  procession  ? "  Glen  said 
solemnly,  advancing  toward  Agatha  Darrow. 

Kitty  had  begged  her  mother  to  come  with  her, 
and  the  marchesa  herself  had  suggested  to  Hali 
burton  that  he  should  join  them.  He  was  amazed 
at  the  change  in  Constance.  He  had  felt  sure 


188  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

earlier  in  the  day  that  something  was  troubling  her 
very  much.  At  this  moment,  as  they  followed 
Kitty  and  Teddy,  the  marchesa  seemed  dazzlingly 
happy.  He  could  not  keep  his  gaze  from  her; 
the  light  of  her  eyes  passed  through  him ;  the  idea 
of  her  beauty  possessed  him. 

"  I  see,"  she  said,  meeting  his  smile,  "  that  you 
perceive  my  barometer  has  gone  up." 

"  Something  was  troubling  you  this  morning. 
I  wished  so  much  that  I  could  help  you." 

"You  always  do  help  me,  I  think." 

"  I  would  die  for  you,  Constance."  Haliburton 
said  this  bending  towards  her,  as  he  stood  waiting 
for  her  to  go  through  the  wicket  which  separated 
the  garden  from  a  sort  of  glen  that  led  to  the 
ravine.  His  low  voice  just  reached  her  ear ;  no 
thing  in  his  manner  betrayed  him  to  the  two  who 
went  before  or  the  two  who  followed ;  not  even 
Constance  was  troubled  by  the  overmastering  fervor 
of  his  speech.  What  she  did  experience  was  a 
sure  sense  of  his  goodness  and  of  his  strength. 

"  This  was  not  a  real  trouble.  It  has  passed,  or 
almost  passed,"  she  answered.  "  I  was  startled.  I 
had  somehow  to  get  my  view  of  things  into  a  new 
focus." 

Haliburton  had  a  sudden  dreadful  thought.  He 
was  not  an  imaginative  man,  but  at  this  fancy  he 
grew  pale. 

"  You  are  not  about  to  promise  to  marry  again  ?  " 
he  exclaimed,  with  such  evident  perturbation  that 
she  laughed. 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  WATERFALL.       189 

"  Why,  my  dear  friend,"  she  rejoined  playfully, 
"  were  you  not  urging  something  of  the  sort  a  little 
while  ago  ?  " 

"You  do  not  seem  to  think  that  a  man  some 
times  feels  it  his  duty  "  — 

She  broke  off  his  speech  with  a  little  gesture. 

"  That  sort  of  thing  is  quite  over  for  me,"  she 
said,  and,  as  their  eyes  met  again,  she  saw  that 
Haliburton's  pallor  was  changed  to  a  crimson  flush. 
"  My  trouble  was  something  quite  different,"  she 
went  on.  "  You  must  see  that  I  am  a  woman  of 
just  one  idea.  That  idea  is  eighteen  years  old." 

"  It  is  Kitty." 

"  Nothing  else."  She  began  talking  about  Kitty, 
telling  stories  of  her  babyhood,  her  early  child 
hood.  Once  when  the  little  girl  was  in  her  third 
year,  Constance  had  left  her  at  home,  and  set  out 
with  her  husband  for  a  week's  visit.  She  was 
recalled  at  the  end  of  the  second  day ;  Kitty  had 
not  eaten  or  slept  since  she  went  away ;  she  was 
devoured  by  a  fever  of  fretfulness  and  restlessness. 
Constance  had  suffered  almost  as  much  as  she,  and 
said  then  that  she  and  Kitty  must  never  be  parted. 

She  went  on  eagerly,  and  it  seemed  to  Halibur- 
ton,  as  he  listened,  that  Constance  was  laying  bare 
the  secret  of  her  heart  ;  that  she  was  confessing  she 
had  found  only  in  her  child  —  at  least  in  any 
satisfying  measure  —  what  she  had  longed  for  all 
her  life.  In  describing  her  happiness  in  Kitty,  she 
made  it  clear  to  his  perceptions  that  after  missing 
the  expected  happiness  of  her  married  life,  —  after 


190  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

accepting  the  fact  that  actual  happiness  is  not  a 
state  to  be  realized  by  mortals,  —  she  had  found  in 
motherhood  not  only  the  old  magical  exhilaration  of 
her  girlish  dreams,  but  her  first  genuine  satisfying 
experience.  Haliburton  had  told  himself  before 
now  that  Constance's  married  life  had  not  been  all 
it  might  have  been,  but  then  it  was  like  a  lover  to 
be  jealous  of  the  two  men  whose  name  she  had 
borne.  Her  tone,  in  speaking  of  Bertini,  was  al 
ways  of  a  calm  and  meditative  sweetness.  As  to 
Philip  Amory,  he  was,  when  he  died,  a  mere  clever 
boy,  full  of  artistic  promise.  Neither  had  developed 
in  Constance  the  passion  of  her  life.  That  had 
come  with  Kitty.  As  her  face  lighted  up  while 
making  these  confidences,  Halibnrton  was  reminded 
of  the  many  pictures  which  the  old  masters  — 
endlessly  idealizing  and  refining  upon  the  idea  of 
maternal  rapture  —  painted  of  the  mother  bending 
over  the  Holy  Child,  with  an  ecstatic  sense  of  joy 
in  her  wonder  and  of  wonder  in  her  joy,  as  she 
adores  the  heavenly  gift  bestowed  upon  her  —  a 
mere  mortal  woman.  The  unspeakable  bliss  of  in 
timate  possession,  the  worship  of  the  flesh,  the 
thrill  of  the  touch  of  those  little  limbs  and  feet  and 
hands  and  cheeks,  the  beauty  of  the  little  dear  face, 
and,  along  with  this  yearning  tenderness,  the  sense 
of  self-dedication. 

Yet  Haliburton  said  to  himself  that  although 
Kitty  had  been  to  Constance  a  divine  boon,  still  she 
had  been  only  a  compensation.  Constance  had  not 
only  not  been  herself  really  in  love,  but  no  man  had 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE   WATERFALL.       191 

loved  her  as  he,  Haliburton,  could  love  her.  Yet 
while  he  said  this  to  himself,  he  knew  that  as  long 
as  Constance  had  Kitty  she  would  need,  or  think 
she  needed,  nothing  else.  But  now,  looking  at 
Kitty  walking  on  into  youth's  fairyland,  led  by 
Teddy,  it  seemed  to  him  quite  unlikely  that  Con 
stance  would  always  have  Kitty. 

A  long  avenue  of  trees  began  beyond  the  garden, 
ending  where  a  descent  of  stone  steps  led  down 
into  the  ravine,  where  the  branches  and  foliage  made 
a  mass  of  shade  which  only  here  and  there  afforded 
an  opening  for  a  shaft  of  sunlight  to  pierce  through, 
—  every  flash  of  sunlight  on  the  moss  and  creepers 
looking  like  a  yellow  butterfly. 

At  the  end  of  the  steps  began  a  toilsome  path 
along  the  side  of  a  brook,  whose  bed  was  strewn 
with  boulders  green  with  moss,  and  offering  a  hold 
for  ferns  and  creepers  to  fasten  themselves  and  de 
velop  under  the  green  twilight  into  marvelous  deli 
cacy.  Kitty,  leading  the  way,  flitted  from  stone 
to  stone  with  the  sure-footed  instinct  of  a  wild 
creature.  The  jungle  grew  more  and  more  dense 
on  the  right  hand  ;  on  the  left  the  clear  amber 
brook  flowed  within  narrowing  banks  with  little 
lisps  and  gurgles  and  often  a  little  song  of  its 
own. 

Every  other  moment  Kitty  looked  back  over  her 
shoulder  and  laughed.  The  broken  lights,  the 
intense  shadows,  the  frail  white  flowers  hanging  out 
of  tender,  swaying  arabesques  of  green,  the  feeling 
that  she  was  going  towards  something  more  and  more 


192  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

mysterious,  she  knew  not  what,  kept  her  excited. 
Teddy  was  just  behind  her.  What  he  saw  was, 
not  the  brook,  or  the  ferns  and  creepers,  but  the 
vivid  fire  of  her  eyes,  the  vermilion  of  her  lips. 

"  Kitty !  "  called  Constance,  "  don't  you  think 
we  Ijave  gone  far  enough  ?  " 

"  But  we  started  to  go  to  the  waterfall,  mamma. 
It  cannot  be  very  far  ahead.  I  hear  it." 

"  The  rocks  are  so  slippery,  I  fear  you  will  come 
to  grief." 

"  Oh,  no,  mamma  mia,  I  shall  not  fall." 

"  I  shall  fall,"  said  Constance.  "  I  am  not  a 
chamois.  I  will  sit  down  and  wait  here."  She 
suited  her  action  to  the  word. 

Glen  and  Agatha,  who  were  engaged  in  a  lively 
conversation,  came  up  presently,  and  found  the 
marchesa  and  Haliburton,  the  former  established 
on  top  of  a  rock,  around  whose  base  the  brook  made 
a  sharp  bend,  and  Haliburton  leaning  against  the 
side  of  it.  Constance  explained  that  she  had  given 
out,  and  that  she  trusted  to  them  to  look  after 
Kitty. 

Glen  listened  to  her  charge  with  apparent  in 
difference,  and  the  two  went  on  ;  they  were  dis 
cussing  the  difference  between  the  impressionist 
and  the  plein  air  schools.  Constance's  eyes  fol 
lowed  Glen,  and  Haliburton  noticed  that  she  kept 
her  glance  on  him  as  long  as  he  was  in  sight. 

"  Glen  looks  young  and  handsome  in  that  brown 
velveteen,"  he  said. 

"  Decidedly  too  young  and  handsome,"  said  Con- 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  WATERFALL.       193 

stance  discontentedly.  "  When  a  man  is  thirty- 
eight  or  thirty-nine  years  old  he  ought  to  show  it." 
However,  as  she  spoke  she  laughed. 

"  It  is  forty-five  that  begins  to  tell  on  men,  and 
women,  too,"  said  Haliburtou.  "  Until  then  they 
may  be  young." 

"  I  am  not  forty-five,  but  I  am  not  young." 

"  You  are  eternally  young,  Constance." 

As  Haliburton  said  this,  he  was  disconcerted  to 
see  a  face  peering  round  the  rock  at  him. 

"  Have  n't  you  gone  to  the  waterfall  ?  "  inquired 
Sue  Darrow,  emerging  from  a  thicket  of  elders  and 
bracken.  She  was  alone.  She  said  she  too  had 
wished  to  behold  the  cascade,  and  finding  no  one 
to  join  her  had  been  following  in  their  steps.  She 
had  lost  her  way.  She  had  stepped  knee-deep  in 
the  pool.  She  had  quite  spoiled  her  fresh  pique 
frock,  but  she  was  bent  on  gaining  the  goal  of  her 
enterprise.  She  was  not  easily  beaten,  she  de 
clared  with  a  laugh.  Poor  Sue ! 

Haliburton  turned  to  Constance  on  the  instant. 

"  Marchesa,"  he  said,  "  you  will  not  mind  sitting 
here  alone  a  little  while.  I  should  like  to  go  on 
with  Miss  Darrow  and  help  her  to  find  the  water 
fall,  if  you  do  not  object." 

"  Oh,  certainly,  go,"  said  Constance.  "  I  shall 
be  very  comfortable  here.  I  like  it  of  all  things." 

Constance  bestowed  a  glance  and  a  thought  on 
the  two  as  they  took  their  course  along  the  edge  of 
the  brook  before  they  were  swallowed  up  in  the 
dense  greenery.  She  liked  Haliburton  for  having 


194  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

thought  of  going  on  with  Sue  ;  there  was  nothing 
about  Haliburton  she  did  not  like.  He  was  one 
of  those  satisfactory  people  who  become,  almost 
before  we  know  it,  intimate,  dear,  necessary, — 
above  all,  necessary.  Her  mind  reverted  to  the 
problem  of  the  morning.  If  Haliburton  had  stayed 
here  quietly  with  her  it  was  possible  —  oh,  no,  it 
was  impossible  !  She  could  not  have  given  Kitty's 
secret  away  to  the  enemy,  as  it  were;  for  in  so 
many  things  Haliburton  and  Glen  were  one,  and 
Glen  was  the  enemy. 

Seated  here,  she  had  the  feeling,  the  luxurious 
leisure,  of  absolute  solitude.  What  was  that  bird 
note  ?  A  thrush  ?  No,  the  bird  that  glided  out  of 
the  thicket  on  noiseless  wing,  and  dipped  into  the 
stream  as  it  flew  over,  had  a  sad-colored  plumage. 
As  if  by  contrast,  a  blue-jay  flashed  across  the 
opening  between  water  and  sky.  It  was  almost 
startling  to  realize  that  there  must  be  many  living 
creatures  in  this  solitude.  She  could  detect  now, 
over  and  beyond  the  rustle  of  the  trees,  the  shallow 
wash  and  murmur  of  the  stream,  the  monotonous 
sound  of  the  waterfall.  She  wondered  dreamily  if 
Kitty  were  enjoying  her  talk  and  walk  with  Teddy. 

"  Henceforth  my  role  is  to  be  that  of  chaperon," 
Constance  said  to  herself.  She  smiled  at  the 
thought  of  her  having  shirked  it  at  this  moment. 
She  had  pitied  ballroom  chaperons,  but  what  a 
formidable  task  to  chaperon  a  girl  who  uses  her 
gazelle  -  like  feet,  not  on  a  waxed  floor,  but  on 
damp,  slippery  stones. 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE   WATERFALL.       195 

But  who,  Constance  said  to  herself,  would  have 
supposed  that  chaperonage  would  be  needed  in  this 
quiet  coterie  of  cousins  ?  It  suddenly  occurred  to 
her  mind  that  she  had  married  one  of  these  cousins  ; 
that  Philip  Amory  had  offered  himself  to  her  —  if 
the  phrase  were  not  too  formal  —  on  a  picnic,  when 
they  were  overtaken  by  a  thunder-storm  and  had 
to  seek  shelter  in  a  barn  full  of  hay.  She  smiled 
a  little  and  lost  herself  in  thought,  as,  bending  for 
ward,  she  looked  at  some  wonderfully  burnished 
gold  buttercups  which  were  blossoming  out  of  the 
cleft  of  the  rock. 

She  was  roused  from  her  reverie  by  the  sound  of 
voices.  The  party  was  returning.  She  stood  up, 
eagerly  awaiting  the  first  glimpse  of  Kitty.  It 
was  strange  what  a  crashing  of  twigs  and  tramp 
ling  of  the  underbrush  seemed  to  be  necessarv  for 
the  progress.  What  Constance  was  looking  for 
was  the  white  scarf  on  Kitty's  hat  when  the  girl 
came  flying  back,  as  she  had  gone,  at  an  Atalanta- 
like  pace.  On  the  contrary,  Glen  first  appeared, 
but  only  as  a  pioneer ;  he  seemed  to  be  clearing 
away  the  vines  which  tangled  about  the  path,  as 
if  making  a  road  for  —  what  ?  Was  that  Teddy 
Darrow  following  with  something  in  his  arms  ? 
Something  ?  It  was  Kitty's  helpless  figure.  Kitty, 
hatless,  her  hair  falling  about  her.  Oh,  what  had 
happened  ? 

"  Do  not  worry,  marchesa,"  Glen  shouted,  the 
moment  he  came  in  sight  of  Constance.  "  Kitty 
tumbled  into  the  water  and  got  wet." 


196  THE  EEVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

Nevertheless,  there  seemed  to  be  something  be 
yond  what  this  explanation  accounted  for.  Teddy's 
pale  face  seemed  full  of  horror ;  he  drew  deep 
breaths  pautingly.  As  he  approached  Constance, 
who  stood  suffering  and  dreading  everything,  it 
seemed  as  if  his  strength  had  given  way. 

"  Oh,  marchesa,"  he  faltered.  "  I  'm  afraid 
I  Ve  killed  her." 

This  is  what  had  happened.  Kitty  had  gone  on 
with  flying  feet,  her  spirits  rising  with  a  joyous 
sense  of  discovery,  as  every  moment  the  dash  of 
the  waterfall  sounded  nearer  and  nearer.  Ah, 
there  it  was ! 

"  Do  you  see  it  ?  "  she  cried  to  Teddy.  "  It  is 
like  a  white  veil,  — it  swings  to  and  fro." 

Teddy  had  the  lungs  and  breath  of  a  trained 
athlete ;  he  had  been  able  to  keep  up  with  her,  — 
that  is,  to  maintain  just  the  right  distance  behind 
her,  —  but  what  she  did  with  the  poise  of  a  bird, 
he  did  solidly  and  stolidly.  He  could  not  admire 
her  enough ;  nothing  so  pretty  as  her  bent,  flying 
figure,  he  thought,  had  ever  before  been  seen, 
while  anything  so  provocative  as  her  occasional 
challenging  glance  over  her  shoulder,  and  her  rip 
ple  of  childish  laughter,  he  had  never  before  felt. 

The  fall  was  nothing  wonderful  in  itself ;  no 
thing  but  the  leap  of  a  small  brook  over  the  low 
rampart  of  rocks,  and  now  the  heats  of  summer 
had  reduced  it  to  a  thread ;  it  fell  gracefully, 
changing  to  mist  on  its  way,  so  that  it  added  little 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE   WATERFALL.       197 

to  the  pool  below,  which  came  from  a  spring  be 
neath  the  rocks.  But  the  delicate  feathers  of  the 
ferns  on  every  side  and  the  occasional  little  waxen 
blossoms  of  the  pipsissewa  made  an  exquisite  set 
ting.  Kitty  found  free  expression  of  her  delight 
in  unstinted  measure,  looking  up  into  the  face  of 
the  young  man  who  had  now  gained  her  side. 

"  I  felt  like  the  wind  as  I  rushed  on,"  said  Kitty. 
"  It  was  so  exciting.  I  knew  if  I  once  stopped  to 
take  breath,  I  should  lose  my  balance,  and  if  I  had 
looked  at  the  stones  I  should  not  have  known  how 
to  pick  my  way." 

This  beautiful  flushed  face  raised  to  his,  the  soft, 
brilliant  eyes,  the  parted  lips,  were  too  near,  too 
alluring.  Then,  besides,  Teddy  had  already  a 
whole  world  of  passion  for  the  girl  pent  up  in 
his  heart,  and  knew  not  how  to  utter  it.  Yet 
somehow  he  must  reach  her  —  if  not  by  words,  by 
some  swift,  sure  arrow  of  meaning  that  should 
fix  itself  in  her  heart.  Accordingly  he  bent  and 
almost  touched  his  lips  to  hers.  Not  quite.  If 
his  action  was  like  the  flash  of  a  bird  to  its  prey,, 
hers  was  the  dart  of  the  wild  creature  bent  on  self- 
preservation.  They  had  been  standing  together  at 
the  foot  of  the  cascade.  With  an  agile  bound  she 
cleared  the  intervening  space  and  alighted  on  an 
uneven  platform  of  rock  which  made  a  sort  of 
island  in  the  green  pool,  raised  here  and  there 
above  the  water,  but  slippery  with  some  fine,  wet, 
mossy  growth. 

"  Why,  Kitty,"  said  Teddy,  "  do  not  be  afraid 
of  me." 


198  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  you,"  retorted  Kitty,  "  but 
please  not  to  come  so  near  me  again." 

"But,  Kitty,"  Teddy  expostulated,  "I'm  aw 
fully  in  love  with  you.  I  want  to  tell  you  that." 
Picking  his  way  carefully  on  the  slippery  stones, 
he  was  approaching  her. 

"Do  not  come  near  me,"  she  called  warningly. 

"  Oh,  Kitty,  do  not  be  so  cruel,"  said  Teddy. 
"  I  only  want  to  speak  to  you  one  moment.  I 
know  I  'm  young,  but  one  grows  older,  and  by  a 
year  from  now  I  shall  be  through  college.  Why 
could  n't  we  be  engaged  ?  " 

"  Engaged  ?  "  repeated  Kitty  incredulously. 
The  word  reaching  her  ear  with  such  startling  un 
expectedness,  she  turned  and  gazed  at  the  young 
fellow  blankly.  "  I  engaged  to  you  !  " 

Teddy  did  not  quite  understand  the  precise  de 
gree  of  surprise  and  horror  behind  the  words. 
By  this  time  he  had  reached  her  side,  his  arms 
were  extended  to  clasp  her,  when,  with  a  sharp  cry 
she  sprang  away  from  him,  slipped  on  the  stones 
and  fell  into  the  pool. 

"  I  told  you  not  to  come  near  me,"  she  said,  look 
ing  up  from  the  water  at  him  as  he  reached  fran 
tically  towards  her.  "  Go  away.  I  will  not  let 
you  touch  me.  I  will  drown  first."  She  clutched 
at  the  stones,  tried  to  regain  a  footing ;  then,  with 
a  gurgling  half  cry,  succumbed  and  fainted  dead 
away.  She  had  sprained  her  ankle.  To  lift  her 
in  his  arms,  drag  her  out  of  the  water  and  pre 
pare  to  carry  her  back,  was  a  moment's  work.  He 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  WATERFALL.       199 

had  not  gone  ten  paces  before  he  met  Glendenning 
Rennie  and  Agatha  Darrow. 

Kitty  had  recovered  her  consciousness  by  the 
time  Teddy  had  deposited  her  at  her  mother's  feet, 
and,  when  she  recognized  her  mother's  familiar 
touch  rubbing  her  chilly  hands,  she  opened  her 
dark  eyes  and  smiled  faintly. 

"  Oh,  Kitty !  oh,  Kitty !  "  faltered  Constance. 

"  I  think  I  have  sprained  my  ankle,"  Kitty  re 
plied. 

Constance,  who,  until  this  moment  had  felt  al 
most  paralyzed  with  dread  as  she  looked  at  Kitty's 
pale  face,  her  closed  eyes,  her  pallid,  parted  lips, 
had  a  sudden  rebound  into  energy.  She  unbut- 
xmed  the  little  shoe,  turned  down  the  stocking  and 

7  O 

lisclosed  the  ankle  rapidly  swelling,  and  in  one 
olace  already  purple. 

"  Oh,  where  is  Sue  ?  Sue  will  know  what  to 
lo,"  said  Gatty. 

We  must  go  back  again  for  one  moment  and 
ind  Sue,  for  she  and  Haliburton  had  contrived  to 
ose  themselves.  That  is,  Sue,  always  omniscient, 
ml  told  him  the  way  to  the  cascade  was  to  the 
•ight,  which  was  the  case,  —  only  it  happened  to  be 
he  longer  way,  so  that  by  the  time  they  arrived  at 
•he  little  waterfall  no  one  was  there.  The  pool  of 
lark  green  water,  the  rocks,  the  ferns,  the  starry 
vhite-blossoms,  had  it  all  to  themselves. 

"  Don't  they  seem  to  you  to  possess  some 
lecret  ? "  Sue  asked,  her  mood  rising  to  poetry. 


200  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

"  Don't  they  seem  to  be  brooding  over  some  beau 
tiful,  unutterable  idea  that  they  will  not  impart  to 
us?" 

Haliburton  acquiesced,  and  indeed,  considering 
what  had  been  happening  in  the  spot  within  the 
last  twenty  minutes,  Sue's  surmise  was  not  so  very 
far  wrong. 

"  I  suppose  we  had  better  go  back,"  he  now  ob 
served,  looking  at  his  watch. 

"  Yes,  just  as  things  are  at  their  pleasantest  they 
always  have  to  be  over,"  said  Sue.  She  looked  at 
him.  "  Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  I  never  mean  to  generalize  from  my  own  social 
experience,  —  it 's  so  slight,"  he  returned. 

"  Let  us  sit  down  and  stay  five  minutes  here," 
pleaded  Sue,  "  now  that  we  have  come  so  far." 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  said  Haliburton.  "  Here  is  a 
rock,  —  but  there,  how  will  that  tree-trunk  do  ?  " 

Miss  Darrow  seated  herself,  generously  extend 
ing  her  ample  skirts  in  order  that  Haliburton 
might  have  some  covering  between  his  tweeds  and 
the  rough  bark.  It  needed  just  this  touch  of) 
thoughtfulness,  this  superabundant  goodness  which 
went  to  Haliburton's  conscience,  to  give  him  a 
feeling  of  remorse. 

He  sat  down  beside  her,  a  desperate  intention 
coming  into  his  mind. 

"  Sue,"  he  said,  "  I  have  known  you  a  good  many 
years,  but  I  do  not  believe  that  I  have  ever  uttered 
one  word  of  the  real  cordial  appreciation  and 
admiration  I  have  for  you." 


THE  SECEET  OF  THE   WATERFALL.       201 

Sue,  with  a  face  where  white  chased  red,  and  red 
white,  gasped,  — 

"  Oh,  John !  " 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  were  unfriendly,  disloyal,  almost 
!  a  traitor,  that  I  have  never  told  you  something 
which  has  actually  shaped  my  life  and  made  me 
just  the  morose  old  fellow  I  am." 

"  Morose  you  never  are,"  said  Sue,  "  and  only 
just  old  enough  to  be  interesting." 

"  I  have  never  told  any  one  what  I  am  going  to 
tell  you,  —  I  never  gave  even  my  mother  a  hint 
of  it." 

It  was  clear  from  her  face  that  her  personal  con 
sciousness  was  at  the  moment  nothing  more  than 
thrilling,  palpitating  expectation.  He  went  on, 
closing  his  eyes  as  he  spoke,  like  a  timid  marks- 
:man  who  dreads  the  explosion  of  his  missile. 

"  I  have  been  in  love  with  one  woman  for  twelve 
•years,"  he  now  said,  and  then  waited. 

Sue  sighed  luxuriously.     She  also  waited. 

"  Of  course  you  can  guess  who  it  is,"  he  said  in 
la  low  voice. 

"  I  should  prefer  that  you  told  me." 

"  It  was  the  summer  I  went  to  Italy  to  visit 
Glen  when  he  was  consul  there.  She  was  already 
a  widow  for  the  second  time,  —  her  little  girl  was 
six  years  old." 

Sue  gave  a  start.  She  seemed  to  be  rubbing 
:her  eyes. 

"  Do  you  mean  Conny  Amory?"  she  asked. 

"  Whom  else  ?  " 


202  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

There  was  just  one  moment's  silence,  but  sixty 
seconds  can  be  measured  heavily.  A  little  con 
traction  had  passed  over  Sue's  face ;  like  a  frost  it 
had  nipped  the  bloom. 

"  I  have  never  told  her,"  Haliburton  said  after 
the  pause  had  grown  a  little  irksome  to  him. 

"  Why  not  ? "  Sue's  voice  was  just  a  trifle 
roughened. 

"  Glen  has  always  been  in  love  with  her.  She 
has  no  wish  to  marry  anybody.  Her  one  thought 
is  of  Kitty." 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  tell  her,"  Sue  now  said. 
"  A  child  makes  a  difference,  but  a  child  is  not 
everything  to  a  woman  after  all.  And  she  would 
have  the  chance  to  make  you  happy." 

Haliburton  gave  a  short  laugh. 

"  I  don't  think  she  cares  much  about  that 
chance,"  he  said.  "  In  fact,  I  feel  like  a  pre 
sumptuous  fool  in  having  mentioned  the  subject  at 
all.  Only"- 

"  Only  we  are  friends,  good  friends,"  said  Sue, 
reaching  out  her  large,  warm,  supple  hand,  "  and 
friends  ought  to  understand  each  other.  In  fact,  I 
needed  to  know  this  in  order  to  understand  a  great 
deal  that  has  often  puzzled  me  about  you." 

He  had  taken  the  hand,  and  pressed  it.  He 
thought  of  kissing  it,  but  abstained,  that  sort  of 
demonstration  not  being  a  habit  of  his. 

"  You  '11  keep  my  secret  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Oh  yes,  —  until  you  tell  it." 

"  I  'm  not  likely  to  do  that." 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE   WATERFALL.       203 

"  The  logic  of  events,  —  the  logic  of  events," 
said  Sue,  laughing.  "  I  said  just  now  that  you 
ought  to  tell  her  if  only  to  give  her  a  chance  to 
make  you  happy ;  but  there  is  another  reason  still. 
She  ought  to  have  the  chance  of  being  made  happy 
by  you." 

"Oh,  Sue,"  said  Haliburton,  "you  are  a  flat 
terer." 

She  sprang  up,  saying  it  was  time  to  go  back. 

They  came  within  hearing  just  as  Agatha  was 
calling,  "  Where  is  Sue  ?  Where  is  Sue  ?  " 

Kitty  was  sitting,  leaning  against  her  mother, 
deadly  pale,  with  a  firmly  set  mouth  and  an  ex 
pression  of  concentrated  endurance  in  her  eyes. 
At  the  sight  of  something  to  do,  Sue's  whole  nature 
felt  a  glad  rebound  from  the  idea  of  her  own  suf 
fering,  her  own  resentment,  into  her  old,  sweet 
habit  of  loving  all  the  world.  She  went  up  to 
the  group,  said  to  Constance,  "  Oh,  this  will  be 
over  in  a  couple  of  days,"  took  the  slim  ankle  be 
tween  her  hands,  and  began  to  chafe  it. 

"Now  you  men  tear  up  your  handkerchiefs," 
she  said,  "  and  I  will  bandage  it.  And,  Teddy, 
have  two  of  the  grooms  bring  the  most  comfortable 
chair  they  can  find  in  the  house." 


CHAPTER   XV. 

ANOTHER   WAY    OF    LOVE. 

CARLYLE  says  somewhere  that  no  man  knows 
what  breaking  his  nose  will  do  to  the  general  in 
jury- 

The  events  of  the  picnic  made  a  difference  in 
the  life  of  the  neighborhood ;  and  as  slight  causes 
often  have  to  bear  the  responsibility  of  large 
results,  the  spraining  of  Kitty's  ankle  was  the  con 
venient  fulcrum  on  which  everything  rested. 

To  Kitty,  that  whole  day  seemed  like  a  painful, 
dimly  remembered  dream.  An  earthquake  had 
happened  in  her  little  world  of  feeling,  and  nothing 
could  ever  be  pleasant  to  her  again,  so  she  felt,  as  it 
had  before ;  she  turned  from  the  dull,  sombre  haze 
of  possibilities  and  probabilities,  and  was  thankful 
almost  for  the  suffering  that  kept  her  a  prisoner. 

Of  course  Constance  had  heard  the  whole  story  of 
what  had  happened  at  the  cascade  both  from  Kitty 
and  from  Teddy.  The  latter's  passionate  impulse 
had  been  like  a  too  quickly  lighted  fire  which  had 
blazed  up  and  then  gone  out.  He  asked  forgive 
ness  humbly.  He  longed  to  do  something  to  atone 
for  it.  But  he  told  Constance  that  he  should  never 
care  for  anybody  except  Kitty,  and  that,  while  he 


ANOTHER    WAY  OF  LOVE.  205 

did  not  venture  to  ask  to  be  engaged  to  her  now, 
he  should  have  no  other  thought  in  his  heart,  and 
no  other  intention  in  every  effort  of  his  intellect 
and  will  except  to  become  worthy  of  her. 

Constance  could  only  tell  him  that  he  had 
alarmed  and  displeased  the  young  girl ;  that  the 
only  way  in  which  he  could  show  his  regard  and 
his  contrition  was  to  be  absolutely  silent  on  the 
subject  of  his  feelings  towards  Kitty,  past,  present, 
and  future.  He  had  spoken  of  rushing  off  at  once. 
She  begged  him  to  do  nothing  to  excite  remark. 
In  a  little  while  his  mother  would  be  going  to  the 
seaside,  and,  meanwhile,  he  and  Kitty  would  prob 
ably  not  be  thrown  together. 

For  more  than  a  fortnight  after  the  picnic  Glen- 
denning  Rennie  seemed  wholly  to  have  dropped  out 
of  the  coterie.  Constance  was  a  little  puzzled  by 
his  disappearance.  He  had  not  once  come  over  to 
inquire  about  Kitty.  Even  Teddy  Darrow  sent 
flowers  and  fruit  every  day,  but  no  sign  of  interest 
was  displayed  by  Glen.  Kitty  never  spoke  his 
name.  She  was  apparently  reconciled  to  his  ab 
sence,  even  if  she  did  not  understand  it.  Con 
stance  believed  that  Kitty  had  been  startled  by  the 
crude  fervor  with  which  Teddy  had  put  the  idea  of 
love  before  her,  that  she  now  shrank  away  from  it. 
Never  in  her  life  had  the  girl  been  so  docile  and  so 
pliant  as  now. 

Constance  had  asked  Haliburton  about  Glen, 
making  some  solicitude  concerning  his  health  the 
pretext  of  her  inquiry.  Haliburton  explained  that 


206  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

Glen  had  suddenly  set  to  work  as  if  bent  upon 
making  up  all  arrears.  Besides  his  usual  occupa 
tions,  he  had  lately  taken  two  departments  on  the 
paper  to  which  he  was  nominally  attached,  while  the 
regular  editors  were  off  on  a  summer  holiday.  He 
was  also  engaged  in  looking  up  the  pedigree  of  a 
putative  Franz  Hals  offered  for  sale  to  a  million 
aire  who  wished  to  be  sure  of  its  authenticity. 
Haliburton  confessed  to  Constance  that  although 
he  had  hitherto  regretted  that  Glen  made  110  at 
tempt  to  spend  his  powers  on  effective  work,  it 
gave  him  nowadays  a  feeling  of  culpability  to  see 
the  foolish  fellow  setting  off  early  in  the  morning, 
and  returning  gaunt  and  pale  at  sunset.  Hali- 
burton's  own  holidays  had  come,  and  to  sit  by  and 
see  Glen  wearing  himself  out  really  hurt  him. 

He  did  not  tell  Constance  that  he  sometimes 
suspected  the  artificial  stimulus  of  some  feverish 
thought  behind  Glen's  assiduity.  After  venturing 
a  few  exhortations  for  more  prudence  and  modera 
tion,  Haliburton  decided  to  wait  and  see  what  was 
behind  this  new  development  of  energy.  The 
strange  thing  was  that  Glen  would  go  nowhere. 
Each  evening  he  would  make  a  suggestion  :  "  Glen, 
suppose  we  go  over  to  Richard  Amory's." 

"  Go  yourself,  John,"  the  reply  would  be.  "  I  'in 
comfortable  for  the  first  time  to-day,  and  shan't 
stir." 

"  Not  to  see  about  poor  little  Kitty's  ankle  ?  " 

"  Nobody  dies  of  a  sprained  ankle." 

"  Not  even  to  see  the  marchesa  ?  " 


ANOTHER    WAY  OF  LOVE.  207 

"  No,  no,  no,  —  not  even  to  see  the  signora 
marchesa." 

"To  the  Darrows'!  You  and  Agatha  have  so 
much  to  talk  about." 

"  I  tell  you,  John,  I  don't  wish  to  see  any  wo 
man." 

"Never  again?  " 

"  Never  again.  Not  a  woman,  not  one  single 
woman  in  the  world." 

"  Has  anything  happened?  " 

"  Nothing  whatever  has  happened.  I  have  sim 
ply  forsworn  the  sex.  If  Adam  in  paradise  had 
wisely  done  the  same,  and  put  up  a  board  at  the 
entrance  with  '  No  women  wanted '  chalked  on  it, 
man's  history  would  have  been  a  simpler  affair. 
Instead  of  that  he  went  mooning  round  that  Tree 
of  Knowledge  till  the  Lord  changed  his  original 
intention,  and  said,  '  It  is  not  good  that  man  should 
be  alone.  I  will  make  a  helpmeet  for  him.'  That 
was  the  beginning  of  all  the  mischief  in  the  world. 
Otherwise,  mankind  would  have  been  propagated 
like  trees  and  grown  up  tall  and  symmetrical." 

"  That  has  been  said  before,  and  the  man  who 
said  it  made  it  the  preamble  to  marriage  with  an 
estimable  woman  who  gave  him  ten  children." 

"  He  submitted  to  what  he  considered  the  in 
exorable  results  of  Adam's  foolishness.  I  do  not 
submit.  I  have  no  call  to  marry  any  estimable 
woman  and  beget  ten  children.  A  man  must  have 
some  effrontery  to  perpetuate  himself  to  that  exag 
gerated  degree.  To  say  nothing  of  foisting  upon 


208  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

the  world  ten  noses  like  his  own,  ten  pairs  of  feet 
and  hands,  ten  mouths  to  eat,  drink,  grin,  and 
whimper,  but  also  to  have  the  same  number  of  re 
productions  of  his  sins,  vices,  idiosyncrasies  !  No  ; 
if  I  were  given  that  chance  in  paradise,  my  motto 
would  be  '  No  women,  —  no  women,  —  no  wo 
men.'  ': 

Haliburton  naturally  imputed  this  sudden  change 
of  wind  to  some  spasm  of  angry  consciousness 
where  Constance  Bertini  was  concerned.  He  hated 
to  see  Glen  working  too  hard,  yet  at  the  same  time 
it  was  a  pleasure  to  find  out  that  there  was  the  stuff 
in  him  to  make  him  work  too  hard,  even  if  it  were 
a  mere  escape  from  his  impatience  with  life,  his 
futile  regrets.  Whether  Glen  understood  his  own 
state  of  mind  any  more  clearly  is  an  open  question. 
He  was,  nevertheless,  doing  a  good  deal  of  thinking 
about  himself  in  these  days.  He  confessed  that  he 
had  got  nothing  out  of  life  that  he  wanted,  and  he 
was  trying  to  set  his  wits  to  work  to  decide  why  he 
had  got  nothing  out  of  life  that  he  wanted.  But 
then,  what  had  he  wanted  ?  Not  money,  —  for  it 
had  always  been  his  creed  that  it  was  beyond  the 
power  of  money  to  give  any  single  pleasure  above 
the  roof  that  shelters,  the  fire  that  warms,  and  the 
table  that  feeds.  He  hated  accumulations  for  him 
self,  and  after  he  had  exhausted  his  first  curiosity 
and  pleasure  in  any  object  of  art  which  had  come 
into  his  possession,  he  had  passed  it  along  to  delight 
some  one  else.  Had  he  been  rich,  he  might  have 
experimented  with  money  to  show  his  powers  of  ori- 


ANOTHER    WAY  OF  LOVE.  209 

ginality.  His  inheritance  had  been  lost  in  a  com 
mercial  crisis  when  he  was  sixteen.  All  that  was 
left  was  about  five  hundred  a  year,  and  this  he 
could  easily  double  or  treble  by  the  exercise  of  one 
or  the  other  of  his  powers.  John  Haliburton  had 
spoiled  him,  loving  him,  offering  everything,  divid 
ing  everything.  Glen  had  accepted  everything, 
and  his  sense  of  owing  everything  to  John  was 
delightful.  That  debt  to  John  was  the  one  un 
spoiled  thing  which  belonged  to  him. 

No,  he  had  never  craved  wealth,  but  he  had 
wished  to  marry  Constance  Bertini.  By  what 
ignobleness,  by  what  blunder  in  his  courtship,  had 
he  missed  winning  her  ?  For  she  had  liked  him  in 
the  old  days  ;  she  liked  him  even  now  in  spite  of  her 
brief  moment  of  disdain  when  he  had  tried  to 
plant  the  past  in  the  present  like  a  palpable  ghost. 
Still,  he  had  not  made  love  to  her  this  summer. 
Nothing  ever  quite  begins  over  again,  and  after  a 
man  has  accepted  a  refusal  for  twelve  years  he 
can  hardly  come  back  to  his  wooing  gracefully 
unless  he  is  a  successful  egoist.  Glen  decided  that 
he  was  an  unsuccessful  egoist.  He  had  been  in 
love  with  Constance  and  had  written  his  "  Love 
Unfulfilled,"  and,  in  spite  of  the  tragic  pathos 
of  "  Love  Unfulfilled,"  he  was  now  ready  to  grant 
that  his  love  for  Constance  was  not  a  love  to  be 
fulfilled.  He  had  not  seen  his  little  volume  for 
ten  years,  —  his  poesia  du  diable,  as  the  French 
call  youthful  poetry.  He  hunted  up  a  copy  in  a 
second-hand  book-shop.  He  read  over  the  sonnets 


210  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

one  by  one,  and  was  surprised  to  find  how  slight 
they  were,  how  little  sincere.  In  spite  of  the  idea 
of  the  series  and  the  general  trend  of  its  meaning, 
the  characters  lie  described  were  neither  his  own 
nor  Constance's.  Yet.  in  default  of  high  veracity, 
the  early  performance  still  possessed  cleverness  :  it 
was  almost  too  clever.  For  if  here  and  there  a  verse 
rose  to  a  high  level  in  a  burst  of  passionate  self- 
consciousness,  most  of  the  poems  —  felicitous 
enough  conceptions  of  a  phase  of  feeling  perhaps 
pathetic,  perhaps  ironical,  often  enough  profound 
—  sank  to  an  anti-climax  more  than  once  a  little 
flippant.  "  I  had  read  Heine  too  much,"  Glen  said, 
recognizing  the  outcome  of  a  perverse,  self-scruti 
nizing  mind  that  recoils  fastidiously  from  exposure 
of  its  deepest  feeling. 

Concerning  his  relations  to  Kitty,  Glen  had  no 
introspection.  He  was  actually  vexed  with  Kitty. 
Looking  at  him  with  such  enchanting  sweetness, 
"on  my  soul,  kissing  me,"  listening  to  him,  charmed 
while  he  talked  by  the  yard,  then  running  off  with 
a  dull,  heavy  boy.  If  Glen  had  set  to  work  to 
study  himself,  he  might  have  discovered  a  sicken 
ing  throb  of  pain  behind  that  stiffening  into  re 
sistance  and  revolt  against  the  idea  of  Kitty's  being 
appropriated  by  that  ridiculous  young  fellow.  But 
why  not?  Measuring  his  own  corn  by  Teddy's 
bushel,  it  was  the  scantiest  possible  yield. 

What  this  episode  of  Kitty  —  if  episode  it  could 
be  called  —  meant  to  Glen,  was  that  it  supplied 
a  touchstone  which  dispelled  illusions,  banished 


ANOTHER    WAY  OF  LOVE.  211 

glamour ;  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  changed  the 
indolent  dreamer  into  the  indefatigable  worker.  It 
was  as  if  he  had  hitherto  cultivated  a  sense  of 
youthf ulness,  —  trying  to  find  zest,  fillip,  charm,  in 
everything  pleasurable.  He  had  been  half  asleep, 
and  now  suddenly  awakening  to  the  fact  that  in- 
;  stead  of  its  being  early  morning  with  him  it  was 
past  noon,  he  had  determined  to  do  something,  no 
;  matter  what,  before  the  night  came. 

Still,  although  nowadays  he  put  at  least  three 
ordinary  days'  work  into  one,  he  was  not  wholly 
i  absorbed.  Even  if  he  pretended  to  be  dead  to 
what  was  going  on  outside,  he  still  had  a  nai've 
curiosity  to  gratify. 

Late  one  afternoon  Haliburton  was  setting  out 
for  a  dinner-party  given  some  ten  miles  away ; 
'Glen  had  been  invited,  but  had  declined,  as  he 
had  of  late  declined  everything.  Now  when  he 
saw  John  descending  in  careful  array,  he  followed, 
supplied  a  carnation  for  his  buttonhole,  and  in- 
i  quired  who  else  was  going. 

"  The  marchesa  and  Richard  Amory.  Ambury 
Darrow  and  his  wife  and  daughters  were  asked, 
but  of  course  they  have  gone  away.  I  know  of 
nobody  else  in  this  neighborhood." 

"  Not  Kitty  ?  "  inquired  Glen. 

"Not  Kitty.  The  marchesa  was  saying  that 
Kitty's  time  for  grand  dinner-parties  had  not  come 
'yet."  Haliburton  put  his  hand  on  Glen's  shoulder. 
"I  hate  to  go  off  without  you,"  he  added. 

"  I  have  renounced  society." 


212  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

"It.  was  all  so  pleasant  early  in  the  summer," 
Haliburton  said ;  "  your  turning  hermit  has  spoiled 
everything." 

"  I  'm  no  hermit.  You  and  I  get  on  famously, 
old  fellow." 

Glen  ate  his  dinner  alone,  then  smoked  his  cigar 
in  the  garden.  The  fragrance  of  the  flowers  rose 
sweet  and  pungent.  It  seemed  to  unlock  ideas  and 
feelings  he  had  of  late  denied  himself.  He  began 
to  be  stirred  by  the  old  restlessness  that  nowadays 
he  put  down  with  an  iron  hand.  He  said  it  was 
the  heavy,  sultry  air.  He  left  the  garden  and 
walked  to  the  brow  of  the  hill.  A  storm  was 
threatening ;  the  sunset  was  crimson,  and,  above, 
ragged,  leaden  clouds  took  veinings  of  the  same 
sanguinary  hue.  All  the  portents  of  the  west  were 
dark,  but  in  the  east  a  large,  motionless  cloud  took 
on  tints  of  pale  rose,  and  hung  there  without  chan 
ging  or  moving. 

It  was  evident  that  Glen  was  waiting  for  dark 
ness.  He  glanced  from  time  to  time  at  the  lumi 
nous  cloud  in  the  east,  as  if  impatient.  Suddenly 
it  faded,  and  the  moment  its  light  went  out  night 
advanced  apace.  Everything  grew  weird,  phantas 
mal,  threatening,  as  the  wind  freshened.  Even  the 
stars,  which  here  and  there  shone  out  between  the 
masses  of  hurrying  clouds,  looked  strange. 

He  seemed  to  have  some  clear  intention,  for 
now,  throwing  away  the  end  of  his  cigar,  he  but 
toned  his  coat,  plunged  down  the  bank,  and  entered 
the  woods,  taking  an  oblique  direction,  and  making 


ANOTHER    WAY  OF  LOVE.  213 

1  his  way,  indifferent  to  paths,  until  he  reached  the 
edge  of  Waldstein.  He  had  taken  the  longest  way 
round,  if  Waldstein  was  his  object.  It  might  have 
been  suspected  that  he  was  invading  the  place,  not  as 
a  guest,  rather  as  a  spy.  He  skirted  the  woods,  did 
not  cross  the  lawn,  but  crept  from  one  thicket  to 
another  of  the  shrubberies,  finally  arriving  at  the 
end  of  the  terrace.  He  need  not  have  feared  that 
he  was  in  danger  of  being  observed.  The  night 
was  dark,  yet  eyes  can  pierce  darkness.  The  point 
was  that  no  eyes  were  watching  at  Waldstein. 
The  man  and  the  dog  had  gone  with  the  carriage 
which  took  Richard  Amory  and  his  sister  to  the 
dinner-party.  The  cook  and  the  parlor-maid  were 
busy  in  the  kitchen.  From  the  drawing-room 
shone  lights.  Somebody,  perhaps,  was  there.  After 
a  pause  under  the  laburnums,  —  a  pause  which  gave 
time  for  a  reconnaissance,  —  he  advanced  a  few 
steps,  jumped  over  the  balustrade  of  the  veranda, 
and  looked  in  at  one  of  the  open  French  windows. 
The  room  had  one  occupant.  Kitty  was  sitting 
before  a  table,  and,  bending  forward,  seemed  to  be 
giving  all  her  attention  and  all  her  powers  to 
some  pursuit.  What  was  she  doing?  Transfer 
ring  little  bits  of  paper  from  one  pile  to  another  ? 
They  were  cards.  She  was  telling  her  fortune. 
He  almost  laughed  outright  at  the  absurdity  of 
the  thing.  What  a  child  she  was,  appealing  to 
some  fate  over  and  above  her,  as  if  she  were  at  its 
mercy,  while  she  not  only  made  her  own  fate,  but 
settled  that  of  half  a  dozen  other  persons. 


214  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

It  had  been  no  part  of  Glen's  scheme  to  enter ; 
he  had  no  intention  of  again  laying  himself  open  to 
rebuff.  He  had  simply  felt  sharply  inquisitive, 
had  cdme  to  spy  upon  Kitty,  to  find  out  what  she 
was  doing.  It  might  have  been  years  since  he  saw 
her  last,  so  absolutely  since  that  day  of  the  picnic 
had  he  acquiesced  in  the  idea  that  she  and  Teddy 
were  lovers,  and  gone  on  accepting  the  pictures  of 
their  felicity  which  his  imagination  imposed.  He 
had  never  forgotten  the  exquisite  blush  with  which 
Kitty  had  told  him  that  day  she  was  going  to  the 
waterfall  with  Teddy.  He  had  seen  her  go  down  the 
sunny  slope  of  the  old  garden  with  Teddy.  Then 
he  had  seen  Teddy  bearing  her  fainting  to  her 
mother.  Everybody  had  stood  back  to  give  way  to 
Teddy,  as  if  Kitty  belonged  to  him  by  right. 

What  Glen  had  come  for  to-night  was  to  end 
any  possible  uncertainty.  If,  while  he  watched, 
Teddy  had  rung  at  the  door-bell,  Glen  would  have 
turned  his  back  and  gone  away. 

There  was  no  Teddy.  There  was  only  Kitty. 
While  Glen  looked  at  her  she  yawned,  glanced  at 
the  clock,  then  settled  herself  again  at  the  cards. 
She  was  expecting  no  lover;  she  was  simply  waiting 
for  nine  o'clock  to  come  that  she  might  go  to  bed. 

He  found  the  shortest  road  to  her,  —  he  flung 
back  the  shutters  and  walked  in  through  the  win 
dow.  At  the  sound  she  started  up,  looked  round, 
took  one  step  forward,  then  stood  still.  He  could 
not  have  told  why  he  did  not  speak.  He  did  not 
understand  what  the  message  was  in  her  whole 


ANOTHER    WAY  OF  LOVE.  215 

look.  Some  feeling  exquisite,  but  tragic,  laid  hold 
of  him.  lie  took  her  hand  and  stood  for  a  mo 
ment  looking  into  her  face  trying  to  command 
himself.  Then,  releasing  his  clasp  upon  her  flut 
tering  fingers,  he  passed  his  hand  over  his  lips. 
It  was  as  if  he  tried  to  speak  and  could  not. 
Finally  achieving  some  self-mastery  he  said  in  an 
easy,  off-hand  way,  — 

"  Telling  your  fortune,  Kitty  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  replied  simply.  "  I  am  playing  soli 
taire." 

"  Go  on  with  your  game,"  he  said.  "  I  will 
watch  you.  I  used  to  play  it  by  the  hour  when 
I  was  a  boy  getting  over  my  fits  of  illness." 

She  reseated  herself  promptly  before  the  table 
as  if  it  were  a  relief  to  be  told  what  to  do.  He 
stood  beside  her  leaning  over  her,  with  one  hand 
on  the  back  of  the  chair.  His  nearness,  the  feel 
ing  she  had  that  he  had  been  almost  incapable  of 
speech,  the  sight  of  his  trembling  lips  awed  and 
frightened  her.  She  tried  to  school  herself  to 
remember  all  that  her  mother  had  said,  all  that 
she  had  meant  to  do  and  to  say  when  she  should 
meet  cousin  Glen  again.  But  all  the  while  her 
pulses  throbbed  faster  and  faster,  —  tears  came 
nearer  and  nearer  her  eyes.  For  a  few  minutes 
she  went  on  shifting  cards  from  pack  to  pack, 
making  the  regular  sequence  mechanically,  then 
growing  more  and  more  confused  and  bewildered. 
At  first  when  she  seemed  to  trip  he  laughed,  put 
out  his  hand  and  corrected  her  mistake.  It  was 


216  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

this,  perhaps,  that  helped  to  blur  her  vision.  Con 
scious  of  her  weakness  a  sob  rose  in  her  throat. 
At  the  sound  he  put  his  hand  under  her  chin  and 
made  her  look  up.  Her  upper  lip  had  a  lift  in  its 
curve  which  went  to  his  heart ;  the  expression  of 
her  eyes  puzzled  and  fascinated  him. 

"  Kitty,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  intense  reproach, 
"  you  deserted  me." 

She  did  not  try  to  answer.  Her  dismay  was  too 
great. 

"  You  deserted  me  for  Teddy,"  he  said  again, 
with  a  note  of  deep  feeling  in  his  voice. 

"  No,"  she  whispered.     "  No." 

"  You  went  off  with  him  on  the  day  of  the  pic 
nic." 

"  Yes,  I  went  with  him,"  she  murmured  under 
her  breath. 

He  burned  to  interrogate  her ;  he  wished  to 
move  her  ;  he  would  not  have  minded  if  he  made 
her  angry,  if  he  made  her  weep.  He  was  ready 
to  pour  out  hot  reproaches,  —  bitter  accusations 
of  he  knew  not  what.  Somehow  it  seemed  as  if 
he  must  free  his  heart  of  the  burden  he  had  been 
carrying  of  late  ;  somehow,  too,  he  needed  to  reach 
her  heart  and  find  out  its  secret.  But  that  beau 
tiful  young  face  touched  him  into  remorseful  ten 
derness.  Even  while  he  felt  that  he  must  pluck 
this  flower  of  opportunity,  end  the  dull  torment 
of  the  past  weeks,  he  still  knew  that  he  had  no 
right  to  meddle  with  her  destiny. 

"  I  don't  ask  you  what  you  feel  for  Teddy."  he 


ANOTHER    WAY  OF  LOVE.  217 

now  proceeded.  "  Of  course  lie  is  worth  fifty  such 
fellows  as  I  am.  I  grant  you  that.  Nevertheless, 
Kitty,  you  and  I  had  become  real  friends.  At 
least  I  thought  so." 

He  paused  and  waited  for  her  to  speak.  A  little 
sigh  broke  from  her. 

"  Were  we  not  friends  ?  "  he  demanded. 
"  I  thought  so,"  she  said  shyly. 
"  Why  that  very  morning,"  he  went  on,  "  I  had 
waked  up  thinking  that,  after  all,  life  was  a  delight 
ful  thing  since  Kitty  was  in  it.     Then  you  flung 
me  over  for  that  boy." 

Kitty,  in  the  meshes  of  her  own  feelings,  in 
doubt  what  to  say,  gazed  at  him  mute,  helpless. 

He  had  sat  down  opposite  her  at  the  little  table. 
Reaching  across  he  took  the  little  hand  that  flut 
tered  idly  among  the  cards  and  pressed  it  between 
this  two  palms. 

"  Of  course  you  don't  care  a  straw  for  me,"  he 
.said.  "  Why  should  you?  I  am  twice  your  age. 
i Teddy  Darrow  is  just  the  one  for  you,  —  young, 
'rich,  clever,  bound  to  succeed.  He  has  all  that  I 
ihave  not.  But,  Kitty,  it  makes  me  simply  furi 
ous."  He  pulled  himself  up,  and  released  her 
hand.  "Tell  me  to  go  away,"  he  said  brokenly. 
"  I  had  no  intention  of  saying  this,  —  of  seeing 
you  at  all.  Why  is  not  Teddy  here?  " 

"  He  never  comes,"  she  said  proudly.  "  I  told 
.him  he  must  never  come  near  me  again." 

They  looked  at  each  othor  across  the  table  for 
!  a  moment  in  silence. 


218  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

"  You  told  Teddy  never  to  come  near  you 
again  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  He  wanted  to  —  lie  asked  you  "  —  He  began 
these  incoherent  questions  with  a  look  inquisitive 
and  commanding,  then  broke  off,  put  his  elbows 
on  the  table  and  dropped  his  face  in  his  hands. 
Something  inexorable  seemed  to  hold  him  in  its 
clutch. 

"  Tell  me  to  go  away,"  he  said.  "  Tell  me  not 
to  come  and  see  you.  I  am  the  one  to  be  sent 
about  my  business."  There  was  a  moment's 
silence ;  then  he  lifted  his  head,  leaned  back  in  his 
chair,  and  looked  at  her  with  self-possession. 

"  Shall  I  go  away  ?  "  he  asked. 

«  No." 

"  Are  you  sure?" 

"  Quite  sure." 

"  I  am  not  sure  at  all.  You  are  young  and 
beautiful.  Heaven  only  knows  what  grand  destiny 
may  be  coming  to  you.  But  let  us  talk  no  more 
about  it.  We  can  only  live  in  this  one  moment. 
So  let  us  talk  no  more  about  it." 

She  was  looking  at  him  like  a  wondering,  happy 
child. 

He  began  to  talk  amusingly  about  his  work  of 
late.  He  described  his  editorial  experiences  ;  told 
how  he,  whose  habit  of  writing  had  always  been 
to  touch  and  retouch,  discard  what  lacked  the 
vivacity  of  epigram,  the  nicety  of  the  pointed 
phrase,  who  had  fairly  reveled  in  the  mental  atti- 


ANOTHER    WAY  OF  LOVE.  219 

tude  of  fastidious  perplexity  before  any  question  of 
selection  and  choice,  had  suddenly  taken  to  writing 
at  railroad  speed,  011  any  subject,  with  the  utmost 
promptness  and  decision  settling  every  problem 
—  mental,  moral,  religious,  social,  scientific,  or 
diplomatic  —  which  presented  itself.  He  said  that 
his  working  capacity  surprised  him.  It  showed 
that  he  only  needed  an  overseer  and  a  whip  to  drive 
him  to  accomplish  something  in  the  world.  The 
only  effective  point  of  view  from  which  to  regard 
literature  was  the  point  of  view  of  the  pocket. 
He  went  into  particulars,  told  her  the  exact 
imount  of  money  his  fortnight's  hard  toil  had 
brought  him  in ;  he  said  he  thought  that  if  he 
ivere  to  work  eighteen  hours  a  day  he  might  make 
:welve  hundred  dollars  a  year.  "  I  should  sup- 
)ose  two  persons  ought  to  be  able  to  live  on  that, 
should  n't  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  It  seems  to  me  a  vast  amount  of  money,"  said 
Kitty.  "  I  never  had  more  than  a  hundred  francs 
')f  my  own  at  once  in  all  my  life." 

"  Oh,  that  is  the  sort  of  millionaire  you  are," 
jrlen  exclaimed,  —  "a hundred  francs !  What  did 
/ou  do  with  a  hundred  francs  ?  " 

She  described  her  extravagances.  She  had 
Bought  presents  for  everybody  she  knew  when 
>he  came  away  from  Florence.  As  she  talked,  all 
'-he  old  sparkle  and  animation  came  out  in  her  face, 
!n  her  tones,  in  her  little  gestures.  He  listened, 
smiling,  and  she  smiled  back  at  him.  They  both 
;elt  all  alive  with  the  happiness  of  being  together. 


220  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

It  made  no  difference  what  they  said  to  each 
other ;  whether  it  were  light  or  serious,  there  was 
a  spring  of  irrepressible  mischief,  an  elastic  re 
bound  from  whatever  depressed  and  hampered,  —  a 
perpetual  radiant  gayety  behind  their  words. 

But  all  at  once  Glen  remembered.  The  smile 
and  glow  went  out  of  his  face.  What  had  startled 
him  was  the  sound  of  the  clock  in  the  hall  striking 
ten. 

"  I  must  go,"  he  said.  "  The  marchesa  will  be 
returning.  I  have  not  a  good  conscience  in  meet 
ing  her."  They  were  still  sitting  opposite  each 
other  at  the  little  table.  He  folded  his  arms  on  it 
and  leaned  forward. 

"  Kitty,"  he  said,  "  I  am  thirty-eight  years  old. 
You  make  me  forget  my  age,  my  failures,  my 
faults,  —  even  my  perception  of  what  is  right  and 
just.  I  like  you  altogether  too  well ;  that  is  what 
is  the  matter."  As  he  spoke,  he  laid  his  hand  on 
hers.  The  moment  their  fingers  touched  he  melted 
into  the  tenderness  he  had  forbidden.  Yielding  to 
an  irresistible  impulse,  he  pushed  the  table  aside, 
rose  to  his  feet,  grasped  both  her  hands  in  his,  and 
looked  into  her  face  for  one  long  moment. 

"  Kitty,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "  I  love  you  with  all 
my  heart.  I  don't  know  how  to  tell  you,  I  love 
you  so.  If  —  if  —  if  I  were  not  too  old  for  you,  — 
too  miserably  poor  and  good  for  nothing,  —  how 
happy  we  could  be."  He  drew  her  to  her  feet, 
pressed  her  slight  figure  to  his  breast,  and  his  lips 
rested  on  her  hair. 


ANOTHER    WAY  OF  LOVE.  221 

"  Kitty,"  he  said  presently,  "  look  up ;  I  want  to 
see  your  face." 

But  when  she  looked  up  he  held  her  at  arm's 
length. 

"  You  are  too  sweet  —  too  sweet  —  too  sweet,"  he 
muttered  ;  "  I  want  to  kiss  you,  but  I  shall  not  kiss 
you.  Do  you  hear  ?  I  shall  not  kiss  you.  When 
they  count  up  my  sins,  let  them  balance  them 
against  my  not  taking  you  in  my  arms  this  mo 
ment  and  kissing  you." 

An  irresistible  little  laugh  burst  from  her.  He 
placed  her  in  her  chair,  then  crossed  the  length  of 
the  room  and  stood  by  the  chimney-piece.  "  Why 
don't  you  say  something?"  he  demanded. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  to  say." 

"  I  swear  to  you  that  is  simply  my  case.  I  love 
you  to  distraction ;  but  on  my  word  I  don't  know 
'what  I  ought  to  say.  I  want  you  to  marry  me.  I 
feel  as  if  we  could  be  happier  in  scrambling  along 
1  somehow  together  than  the  richest  and  luckiest 
people  in  the  world.  You  like  me,  don't  you, 
'Kitty?" 

She  nodded. 

"  I  could  make  you  happy,  could  n't  I,  Kitty  ?  " 

She  nodded  again. 

"  I  know  that  as  well  as  I  know  my  own  soul. 
And  yet  at  this  moment,  when  I  long  to  make 
you  promise  to  be  mine  unalterably,  there  comes 
that  horrid  doubt.  I  'm  an  old,  battered  fellow. 
All  my  youth  has  gone.  Everything  is  before  you 
—  everything.  I  do  not  dare  say  that  I  will  take 


222  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

your  life  into  my  hands.  I  am  so  afraid  of  spoiling 
it,  —  of  marring  it." 

She  flew  towards  him.  She  laid  her  hands  on 
his  breast  and  looked  up  pleadingly. 

"  Glen,"  she  said,  "  Glen  !  " 

"Kitty,"  he  answered,  "Kitty!"  His  face 
twitched  with  emotion.  Those  two  small,  clinging 
hands  seemed  a  weight  almost  more  than  he  could 
bear.  Then  came  the  sound  of  carriage  wheels. 

"  Oh,  there  is  mamma  !  "  Kitty  exclaimed,  shrink 
ing  back. 

"  I  will  go,"  said  Glen.  "  I  could  n't  face  her  at 
this  moment.  You  will  tell  her  everything,  I  sup 
pose.  Of  course  tell  her  everything." 

The  look  of  age  and  gloom  had  returned  and 
deepened  on  his  face. 

"  She  will  be  very  angry  with  me,"  he  said.  He 
stretched  out  his  hands  to  Kitty  with  a  dreary 
look.  "  Tell  me  once  you  love  me,"  he  said  softly. 
"  Say  '  Glen,  I  love  you  dearly  !  ' ;  After  she  had 
faintly  echoed  his  words,  he  murmured,  "  I  needed 
to  hear  it  once,"  pressed  his  lips  to  the  palm  of 
her  hand,  and  went  straight  out,  without  looking 
back. 

Kitty  followed  him  to  the  door,  and,  in  an  excite 
ment  which  was  not  mere  hope  or  fear,  pain  or 
pleasure,  but  pure,  triumphant  joy,  stood  waiting 
for  her  mother. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
"YOUTH  SHOWS  BUT  HALF." 

THE  carriage  stopped  at  the  curbstone,  and 
Richard  Amory  alighted  and  handed  out  his  sister. 

"Is  thee  still  up,  Kitty?"  he  asked.  "I  sup 
posed  thee  had  been  asleep  these  two  hours." 

"  Why,  Kitty,"  said  the  marchesa  in  her  turn, 
"  you  told  me  you  were  going  to  bed  at  nine 
o'clock." 

As  she  came  up  the  steps,  she  began  unwinding 
a  boa  of  white  ostrich  feathers  from  her  head  and 
shoulders.  The  light  from  within  falling  on  her 
face  gave  a  striking  effect  to  her  features. 

Kitty  threw  her  strong  young  arms  round  her 
mother. 

"  Oh,  you  are  so  perfectly  lovely,  mamma,"  she 
murmured,  and  devoured  her  with  kisses. 

Kitty  had  been,  of  late,  so  quiet  and  self-con 
tained  that  this  sudden  return  to  her  old  expan- 
siveness,  her  old  caressing  habit,  even  while  it 
pleased  Constance,  perplexed  her.  To  leave  a 
young  girl  at  home  at  seven  o'clock  who  declares 
she  does  not  mind  being  left  since  she  longs  only  to 
go  to  bed,  and,  on  returning  toward  eleven  o'clock, 
to  find  her  eyes  shining,  her  lips  smiling,  her  face 


224  THE  ItEVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

full  of  warm  color,  would  suggest  to  even  the  least 
logical  of  minds  that  something  has  happened  in  the 
interval.  Constance  felt  an  electrical  force  behind 
Kitty's  exuberant  embrace.  They  went  in  and 
stood  exchanging  a  few  words  with  Richard  Amory, 
who  was  discoursing  on  the  evening's  experience. 

"  A  little  too  much  of  everything,"  he  said ;  "  too 
many  plates,  too  many  courses,  too  many  kinds  of 
wine,  too  much  talk,  but  too  little  thought." 

"  It  was  pleasant,  it  seemed  to  me,"  Constance 
returned.  "  If  nobody  was  very  wise,  still  every 
body  was  good-natured  and  unpretentious." 

But  Richard  Amory  shook  his  head. 

"  If  thy  thoughts  come  and  go  like  the  bubbles 
in  the  glass,  be  sure  there  is  no  good  wine  left 
beneath.  The  soul  that  waits  and  listens  and  con 
centrates  itself  finally  knows." 

The  old  Quaker  sat  down  to  meditate  on  the 
follies  and  vanities  of  the  evening.  Constance  and 
Kitty  kissed  him,  then  went  upstairs  together. 
When  they  were  inside  the  bedroom,  Constance 
closed  the  door,  and  turned  up  the  lights. 

"Mamma,"  Kitty  exclaimed  excitedly,  "kiss 
me  again.  Oh,  I  am  so  happy !  " 

Constance  obeyed,  but  she  trembled.  She  knew 
that  some  ordeal  was  before  her. 

"  "What  has  happened  ?  "  she  asked  anxiously. 

"  Oh,  mamma,  he  loves  me.  You  thought  it  was 
all  my  absurdity.  But  he  loves  me  !  " 

"  Of  whom  are  you  speaking  ?  "  demanded  Con 
stance. 


YOUTH  SHOWS  BUT  HALF.  225 

"  Cousin  Glen.     Of  course  it  is  cousin  Glen." 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?     Has  he  been  here  ?  " 

"  He  stayed  until  he  heard  the  carriage  wheels  in 
the  drive." 

Constance  sank  down  in  the  easy-chair  by  the  side 
of  the  bed.  She  felt  fettered,  cramped,  chilled. 

"  Tell  me  just  what  has  happened,"  she  said.  In 
all  Kitty's  life  she  had  never  heard  her  mother 
speak  so  coldly. 

"  Mamma,  you  seem  so  displeased,"  she  faltered, 
aghast. 

"I  wish  to  understand  what  has  taken  place," 
Constance  replied.  "  Then  I  can  tell  you  whether 
or  not  I  am  displeased." 

Kitty  stood  before  her  at  a  little  distance.  What 
she  experienced  was  a  delicious  sensation  of  happi 
ness.  Everything  else  was  a  dream.  Her  words 
burst  from  her  broken,  incoherent,  —  now  coming 
in  a  rapid  gush,  then  dragging  one  after  the  other, 
as  by  hard  effort.  She  could  not  penetrate  her 
mother's  state  of  mind  in  the  least.  She  had  ex 
pected  Constance  to  be  as  happy  as  herself. 

"  I  was  playing  solitaire ;  I  was  half  asleep  ;  I 
bad  never  once  dreamed  of  anything  happening 
to-night.  Then,  all  at  once,  there  he  was.  He 
did  not  ring ;  he  opened  the  shutter  and  came  in 
through  the  window.  He  told  me  to  go  on  play 
ing.  But,  after  a  little,  I  —  had  —  to  —  give  —  it 
—  up.  What  he  said  first  was  that  I  had  deserted 
him,  —  deserted  him  for  Teddy.  He  has  been 
thinking  all  the  time,  of  late,  that  it  was  Teddy  I 


226  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

liked.  He  praised  Teddy,  —  said  he  was  all  that 
he  himself  was  not." 

She  broke  off,  and  looked  wistfully  at  her  mother, 
as  much  as  to  say,  "  You  understand  it  all  now  ?  " 

Constance  made  a  little  gesture.  "  Then  he  told 
you  "  —  she  suggested. 

"  Then  he  asked  me  if  I  wanted  him  to  go 
away." 

"  And  you  said  <  No  '  !  " 

"What  else  could  I  say,  mamma?  I  was  so 
happy  in  seeing  him  again.  I  had  been  only  half 
alive  when  he  did  not  come." 

"  Did  you  tell  him  that  ?  "  Constance  made  this 
inquiry  in  a  suffering  voice. 

"  No,  no,  no  !  "  Kitty  cried.  "  I  told  him  no 
thing."  She  laughed  exultingly.  "  I  know  what 
you  fear,  mamma.  But  I  remembered  your  lesson. 
I  assure  you  I  hardly  said  one  word.  Somehow  I 
could  not  speak.  Besides,  I  did  not  feel  as  if  I 
needed  to  speak.  It  was  he  who  talked,  —  it  was 
he  who  said,  '  I  love  you ! '  He  said  it  not  only 
once  but  twice  —  three  times.  In  one  way  or 
another  he  told  it  a  dozen  —  twenty  times.  There 
is  no  doubt  of  it  at  all.  He.  loves  me.  He  loves  me 
dearly." 

A  new  sweetness,  a  new  tenderness  came  out  as 
she  spoke.  It  was  evident  to  Constance  that  every 
fibre  of  the  young  girl's  being  vibrated  with  hap 
piness.  It  would  have  been  impossible  to  imagine 
a  more  perfect  sincerity  of  joy  than  declared  itself 
in  every  look  and  tone. 


YOUTH  SHOWS  BUT  HALF.  227 

"  Mamma,"  she  went  on,  with  a  half  laugh,  "  he 
even  thinks  that  I  am  beautiful !  Is  it  not  absurd? 
Arid  particularly  when  he  has  so  criticised  me,  so 
derided  me,  that  I  have  often  seemed  to  be  sitting 
on  pins  and  needles  when  he  looked  at  me  ;  I  used 
to  long  to  look  nice,  just  in  order  that  cousin  Glen 
should  not  laugh  at  me  and  pick  faults  in  me.  Yet 
to-night  he  said,  only  just  now,  before  you  came  "  — 
She  hesitated,  crimsoned,  then  laughed,  and,  quite 
shamefaced,  threw  herself  on  her  knees  and  buried 
her  face  in  her  mother's  lap.  "  I  cannot  say  it,  —  it 
is  so  foolish,"  she  said,  with  another  gurgling  little 
laugh.  Constance,  divining  the  sweet,  passionate 
fondness  that  lay  behind  this  half  confession,  shiv 
ered  from  head  to  foot.  But  she  clasped  her  arms 
about  the  girl  and  held  her  closer. 

"  Did  cousin  Glen  speak  of  my  having  any  voice 
in  the  matter  ?  "  she  asked  dully. 

"  Oh  yes.  He  said  more  than  once  that  you 
would  not  like  it.  He  said  he  was  afraid  to  see 
you." 

"  Afraid  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  He  said  that  you  would  not  approve,  —  that 
nobody  would  approve,  —  that  he  himself  did  not 
approve  of  it  in  the  least.  He  said  he  had  no  right 
to  say  a  word  to  me.  To  begin  with,  he  was  too 
old  ;  to  begin  and  end  with,  he  was  too  poor ;  but 
that  the  actual  point  was  he  was  too  miserable  a 
failure.  '  In  all  the  world,'  he  said,  '  I  have  just 
one  single  friend  who  loves  me  and  believes  in  me, 
and  that  is  John.'  " 


228  TI1E  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

Kitty,  gaining  courage  as  she  spoke,  had  raised 
her  head.  Her  voice  rang  out  clearly  as  she  re 
peated  Glen's  words  with  just  a  touch  of  drollery, 
but  at  the  end  her  voice  broke  into  a  sob. 

"  That  sounds  just  like  Glen,"  Constance  said, 
with  a  sigh.  "  He  is  irresponsible.  He  has  been 
all  his  life  a  man  in  search  of  sensations.  I  ought 
to  have  realized  it.  I  ought  to  have  foreseen 
this." 

Kitty  followed  her  mother's  words  with  intense 
interest. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  "  —  she  began  to  ques 
tion,  but  Constance  raised  her  hand. 

"  I  have  to  think  a  little  about  the  matter,"  she 
said  quietly.  "  I  must  have  a  talk  with  Glen. 
He  has  told  you  himself  that  he  ought  never  to 
have  spoken  to  you,  that  he  is  too  old  "  — 

"  Oh,  I  would  not  have  him  any  younger, 
mamma." 

"  That  he  is  too  poor  "  — 

"  I  should  so  dislike  to  be  rich,  mamma  mia" 

Constance  smiled  in  spite  of  her  anxious,  troubled 
mind.  She  lifted  Kitty  to  her  feet.  "Promise  me 
one  thing,  Kitty,"  she  said,  "  that  you  will  think 
no  more  about  it  to-night.  Go  to  bed  and  sleep." 

"  I  will  go  to  bed,"  said  Kitty.  "  Perhaps  I 
may  go  to  sleep.  But  I  cannot  help  thinking  about 
it.  Why,  mamma,  he  loves  me  !  You  don't  begin 
to  know  what  it  means  that  he  loves  me.  Here  I 
have  been  so  ashamed  of  myself  for  caring  about 
him,  but  all  the  time  he  loves  me." 


YOUTH  SHOWS  BUT  HALF.  229 

"  We  will  not  say  another  word  about  it  to 
night.  We  are  both  going  to  bed.  We  are  both 
so  tired." 

"  I  never  can  be  tired  again,  mamma." 

They  were  walking  towards  Kitty's  room  as  they 
spoke,  —  a  pretty  little  maiden's  bower,  hung  with 
white  and  rose  color,  and  now  softly  lighted  by  a 
lamp  burning  behind  a  pink  shade.  They  happened 
to  pause  just  in  front  of  the  oval  mirror,  and  Kitty, 
when  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  herself,  gave  a  cry 
of  delight. 

"  Why,  mamma,  I  am  beautiful !  "  she  ex 
claimed.  "  I  did  not  really  believe  him  when  he 
said  I  was."  She  looked  again  at  the  image,  with  its 
dark  eyes  and  its  mouth  like  a  vivid  scarlet  flower ; 
then,  leaning  forward,  kissed  her  reflection  in  the 
glass.  "  Oh,  I  am  so  glad,  so  glad,  so  glad  I  did 
look  nice,"  she  added.  She  met  her  mother's  glance. 
"  Do  you  not  think  I  look  nice  ? "  she  asked 
naively. 

Constance  passed  her  hands  over  the  soft  con 
tours  of  the  girl's  face. 

"I  know  what  /think  of  your  looks,"  she  said, 
kissing  her.  "  You  do  not  need  to  go  to  other 
people  for  compliments." 

Kitty  was  now  comparing  the  two  faces  reflected 
in  the  mirror. 

"  Of  course,"  she  observed,  "  I  am  not  beautiful 
as  you  are,  mamma  mia.  You  are  like  a  queen. 
But  then,  just  for  poor  little  me,  I  rather  like  my 
own  face." 


230  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

"  Vanity ! " 

"  But  if  he  loves  me  ?  " 

"  You  must  go  to  bed  ;  you  must  go  to  sleep." 

"  The  idea  of  sleeping !  I  am  pretty,  charming, 
quite  adorable,  and  he  loves  me  !  " 

Constance's  hands  had  been  busy  in  unfastening 
the  white  frock,  unknotting  ribbons,  and  undoing 
buttons.  Five  minutes  later,  Kitty,  in  a  long  white 
slip  like  a  baby's,  was  kneeling  by  the  bedside  say 
ing  her  prayers.  Her  devotions  lasted  twice  as 
long  as  usual,  and  Constance  knew  that  the  girl 
was  praying  for  the  new  hope,  —  praying  for  what 
must  be  denied  her,  for  what  must  never,  never 
come  to  pass. 

Kitty  crept  into  her  little  white  bed  presently. 
Her  mother  bent  over  and  caressed  her. 

"Now  go  to  sleep,"  she  said,  then  reached  closer 
for  one  more  kiss.  She  extinguished  the  lamp  and 
went  into  her  own  room,  and  stood  at  the  open 
window  listening  to  the  wind,  which  had  been  rising 
all  the  evening  and  now  blew  a  gale.  A  weird 
moonlight  showed  the  fantastic  shapes  of  the  trees 
as  they  bent  writhing  in  the  blast,  and  heightened 
the  weary,  melancholy  feeling  Constance  had  of 
somehow  being  alone  outside  of  the  world. 

As  she  stood,  suddenly  there  came  the  sound  of 
a  patter  along  the  floor.  She  turned  ;  there  was  a 
long,  lithe  shape,  the  twinkle  of  white  feet,  and 
Kitty  darted  towards  her  with  a  little  elfish  laugh. 

"  Mamma,  he  loves  me !  "  she  exclaimed,  and 
clasped  her  mother  in  her  strong  young  arms. 


YOUTH  SHOWS  BUT  HALF.  231 

"  But  this  is  nonsense,"  said  Constance. 

"  I  know  it  is.  Still  something  bubbles  up  within 
me.  I  feel  like  laughing  and  like  crying ;  I  feel 
like  praying  too.  I  love  cousin  Glen,  —  but  that  is 
not  all  of  it.  I  love  you  just  as  much,  and  uncle 
Richard.  I  love  the  whole  world.  I  am  so  happy." 

Constance  led  her  back  to  her  bed,  sat  down  on 
the  bedside,  and  leaned  over  her  until  she  slept. 
Then  she  went  again  to  her  own  room,  and  again 
stood  by  the  window,  still  incapable  of  any  con 
nected  thought. 

What  she  felt  was  intense  anger  against  Glen,  — 
•a  wholly  righteous  wrath. 

At  ten  o'clock  next  day  Glen  came  to  see  her. 
They  were  expecting  guests,  and  Richard  Amory 
had  driven  with  Kitty  across  the  country  to  meet 
them  at  the  Junction.  Constance  sat  alone  in  her 
brother's  library  waiting  for  her  visitor.  It  had 
rained  in  the  night,  half  cleared  at  dawn,  but  the 
south  wind  still  blew,  and  sunshine  and  cloud 
chased  each  other. 

As  Glen  came  towards  her,  he  was  conscious  of 
a  change  in  Constance :  her  face  showed  certain 
deep  lines  about  her  mouth  he  had  never  seen 
before,  still  courage,  and  a  sort  of  exaltation.  She 
also  found  a  difference  in  him.  He  looked  sub 
dued,  chastened,  rather  etherealized. 

She  gave  him  no  greeting,  but  said  in  a  tone  of 
acute  reproach,  — 

"If  it  had  been  an  open  enemy  that  had  done 
me  this  dishonor,  I  could  have  borne  it.  But  it 


232  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

was  even  thou,  my  companion,  my  guide,  mine  own 
familiar  friend." 

"  I  know  that  I  have  done  wrong,"  lie  said,  sink 
ing  down  into  a  chair  at  some  distance.  "  It 
troubles  you  ;  I  see  that.  I,  too,  am  not  in  an 
over-buoyant  mood." 

"  I  have  not  slept." 

"Nor  I." 

"  It  disturbs  your  conscience." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  was  not  my  conscience  that  kept 
me  awake.  I  was  too  awfully  happy  to  sleep."  As 
he  said  this,  perhaps  to  hide  the  expression  of  his 
face,  he  flung  back  his  head  and  looked  towards  the 
ceiling.  "  You  see,  Conny,"  he  added,  after  a  mo 
ment's  silence,  "I  never  was  really  happy  before 
in  my  life,  —  at  least  not  since  mamma  died." 

"  Oh,  Glen  !  " 

"  Still,  I  hated  to  think  it  would  make  you  miser 
able."  He  paused  a  moment,  then  burst  out  anew, 
"  Conny,  I  have  been  the  loneliest  fellow  on  earth ; 
I  have  had  nothing  and  nobody  but  John.  When 
I  began  to  think  that  she  really  cared  for  me,  it 
brought  a  new  heaven,  a  new  earth." 

"  Your  words  have  a  sting  in  them  for  me." 

"  That  I  blame  you  for  my  loneliness  ?  " 

"  Oh  no ;  I  do  not  take  your  loneliness  to 
heart." 

"  You  mean  I  suggested  that  she  cared  for  me 
first?  No  woman  ever  cared  for  me  before.  Kitty's 
love  was  a  spontaneous  gift." 

"  It  hurts  me  to  hear  you  say  it." 


YOUTH  SHOWS  BUT  HALF.  233 

"  To  me  it  is  so  beautiful." 

"  Oh  yes  ;  you  were  ennuye.  I  can  fancy  that  it 
flatters,  charms,  fascinates  you  for  the  moment  to 
Feel  that  an  ignorant  young  girl  idealizes  you." 

"  Do  not  accuse  me  of  cynicism.  With  all  my 
Faults  I  was  never  cynical ;  and  now  "  — 

Constance  had  risen ;  she  walked  three  steps  to 
wards  Glen,  and  stood  there  for  a  moment  looking 
at  him. 

"  I  cannot  let  her  marry  you,"  she  said  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  I  told  her  you  would  say  so."  Glen  also  had 
risen.  His  face  had  grown  pale.  His  tone  was 
cold  and  formal.  "  But  please  tell  me  just  what 
your  reasons  are  for  rejecting  me." 

"Because  she  is  my  child,  —  my  child  for  whom 
I  have  done  everything,  —  for  whom  I  must  do 
everything." 

"  But  can  you  do  everything  for  her  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Constance,  as  if  wondering  at 
the  question.  "  It  would  be  strange  indeed  if  I 
could  not  do  everything  for  my  own  child." 

"It  is  not  for  me  to  doubt  your  efficacy."  He 
said  this,  smiling,  but  Constance  suspected  some 
irony  behind  his  words. 

"What  could  you  do  for  her?"  she  demanded. 
"  I  grant  that  for  six  months  you  might  find  her  a 
charming  plaything." 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  make  her  happy  for  six 
months  ?  " 

"  What  are  six  months  in  a  woman's  life  ?  " 


234  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

"  I  have  lived  so  meagrely,  it  seems  to  me  a  great 
deal  to  be  happy  for  six  months." 

"  You  know  nothing  of  life  ;  you  know  nothing 
of  women." 

"  It  does  seem  to  me  that  I  know  Kitty.  Life 
I  may  not  know,  because  I  have  never  had  a  chance 
to  try  it.  But  I  believe  I  could  make  Kitty 
happy." 

"  Happy  for  six  months !  " 

"  You  seem  to  doubt  the  permanence  of  any  feel 
ing  in  me,  but  I  was  faithful  to  you  for  twelve 
years,  Conny." 

"  Faithful  to  me !  "  she  repeated.  "  How  faith 
ful?" 

Question  and  answer  had  flashed  back  and  forth 
like  equal  stroke  and  counterstroke  ;  but,  as  if  thia 
thrust  of  the  rapier  probed  his  conscience,  he  sud 
denly  gave  up  parrying  her  words.  He  looked  like 
a  man  disgusted  with  himself,  seized  with  remorse, 
even  with  a  wish  to  repent,  if  it  had  been  worth 
while.  He  went  to  the  mantelpiece,  turned  his 
back  to  her,  and  leaned  his  head  on  his  hands. 

"  If  I  have  sometimes  wanted  the  assurance  of 
being  alive,"  he  murmured,  without  looking  at  her, 
"  if  I  have  been  at  times  desperate  with  loneli 
ness,  half  mad  with  pain  at  my  own  failure, — 
still  there  has  never  been  one  moment,  Conny, 
when  "  — 

She  caught  at  his  meaning  before  he  finished  his 
speech. 

"  Oh,  do  not  say  that,"  she  exclaimed  ;  "  I  am 


YOUTH  SHOWS  BUT  HALF.  235 

•ratef ul  for  all  your  friendship,  Glen  ;  but,  as  you 
:now  very  well,  I  never  took  you  too  seriously; 
;  was  simply  a  peg  on  which  to  hang  your  ideals." 

"  If  you  had  cared  for  me  one  moment,  Conny, 
ou  would  have  known.  Kitty  does  care  for  me, 
nd  that  makes  the  difference.  I  have  sometimes 
iid  to  myself  of  late  that  you  owed  me  this  com- 
ensation." 

"I  could  better  marry  you  myself  than  give 
litty  to  you."  She  was  so  deeply  in  earnest  she 
ad  no  sense  of  the  strangeness  of  her  words, 
leeting  the  measureless  surprise  of  his  glance,  she 
ent  on,  "  Why,  Kitty  is  my  child ;  I  love  her  a 
lousand  times  better  than  I  love  myself.  I  have 
iiways  forgotten  myself  in  loving  her.  Don't  you 
u'e  how  it  is  ?  " 

"  I  see  that  you  think  I  'm  a  dismal  failure ;  that 

have  no  money,  no  position,  nothing  to  offer 
b." 
,  "  That  sort  of  failure  is  nothing." 

"  But  that  sort  of  failure  stands  for  everything." 

"  The  sort  of  failure  I  care  about  means  dis- 
ichantment ;  it  means  deterioration ;  it  means 
.iing  miserable." 

His  face  startled  her.    He  was  frowning  slightly ; 

s  features  had  grown  pale  and  set.  He  looked 
iddenly  ten  years  older. 

He  became  conscious  of  her  gaze.  He  made  an 
fort  to  smile ;  his  expression  softened. 

"  Oh,  Glen,"  she  said  wearily,  "  I  hate  to  think 
Ve  hurt  your  feelings." 


236  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

"  Oh,  go  on.  Say  what  you  have  to  say.  Let 
me  know  the  very  worst  that  is  in  your  thoughts 
about  me." 

"  The  worst  that  is  in  my  thoughts  is  that  you  are 
a  man  in  quest  of  sensations  ;  and,  when  a  man 
simply  wants  his  imagination  and  senses  stimulated. 
planets  and  solar  systems  do  not  suffice." 

He  stared  at  her  as  if  dumfounded. 

"Am  I  actually  that  sort  of  man  ?  "  he  askec 
after  a  little  pause,  as  if  struck  by  the  accuracy  o 
her  definition,  but  still  a  little  incredulous. 

"  Oh,  it 's  an  interesting  character  and  tempera 
ment,"  Constance  now  said.  "  Only  when  the  happi 
ness  of  one's  daughter  is  at  stake  one  is  not  artistic 
Bohemian  ;  one  is  bourgeois,  Philistine.  Actual! 
my  ambition  for  Kitty  is  a  very  simple-minded  one 
but,  after  all,  the  real  point  of  my  objection  t 
the  whole  thing  is  that  Kitty  does  not  really  lov 
you." 

"  Has  she  told  you  so  ?  " 

"  She  may  believe  that  she  loves  you  ;  she  is  on! 
in  love  with  the  idea  of  being  in  love." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that?" 

His  soft,  persistent  tone,  indicating  a  clean 
knowledge  than  her  own,  shook  Constance's  beli 
in  her  own  statement. 

"  Sure  ?  I  am  sure  of  nothing  except  that  si 
is  the  merest  child.  Hitherto  I  have  been  almo 
her  only  companion.  She  has  never  felt  her  so 
tariness,  for  I  have  kept  her  busy,  interested  in  < 
sorts  of  little,  every-day  things  that  occupied  ai 


YOUTH  SHOWS  BUT  HALF.  237 

absorbed  her  mind  and  heart.  She  has  never 
thought  about  love  ;  she  has  hardly  known  that 
such  a  sentiment  existed.  It  was  quite  enough  for 
her  to  love  me.  But,  coming  here,  —  thrown  with 
so  many  intimate  relatives,  hearing  the  Darrow  girls 
talk  as  if  they  were  probing  the  deepest  secrets  of 
Bxistence,  —  she  has  suddenly  matured.  Then, 
Glen,  you  are  rather  charming." 

"  I  never  charmed  you,  marchesa." 

She  reached  out  her  hand  and  laid  it  on  his  arm 
is  he  bent  towards  her,  his  acute,  brilliant  face 
just  touched  with  mischief. 

"  We  have  had  the  cream  of  acquaintance,"  she 
.said.  "  We  have  been  excellent  comrades.  I  'm 
,'iot  easily  charmed,  —  at  any  rate,  I  do  not  care 
fery  much  about  being  charmed.  I  have  my 
.deals  ;  I  like  stability,  permanence,  something  that 
loes  not  wax,  nor  wane,  nor  change." 

"  The  rock  of  ages.  You  ought  to  have  married 
John." 

She  made  no  answer  to  this  suggestion,  but 
continued  to  look  at  Glen,  her  serene  brown  eyes 
lilated,  a  vivid  spot  of  pink  burning  on  each  cheek. 
The  effect  of  her  words,  of  her  gaze  of  clear  in- 
,)ight,  was  deeper  than  she  knew.  Glen  stood  lean- 
ng  against  the  desk,  his  arms  folded,  a  half  smile 
m  his  lips,  but  his  eyes  were  covered  by  their  lids. 
What  he  experienced  was  a  dreary  self-abasement, 
—  a  sense  of  eclipse. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  right.  I  always  go  over  to 
-he  enemy's  side.  I  always  believed  in  the  critics 


238  THE  EEVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

who  cut  rne  up.  But  Conny,  dear,  just  answer  me 
this,"  he  said,  making  one  step  forward.  "  If  I 
were  to  set  to  work,  make  a  good  income,  —  in 
short,  succeed  as  other  men  do,  —  would  that  alter 
your  views  ?  " 

"  The  question  of  money  has  not  entered  into  my 
calculations  at  all.  You  are  not  of  the  age  when 
men  suddenly  change  all  the  habits  of  their  lives." 

"  You  mean  I  am  too  old.  I  said  so  to  Kitty, 
but  all  the  same  I  don't  believe  it.  I  have  been 
ill  so  much  I  have  lost  ten  years  out  of  my  life,  — 
actually  I  am  only  twenty-eight.  What  was  it, 
Wmckelmann  said,  '  The  gods  owe  me  this,  for  I  j 
was  so  unhappy  when  I  was  young.'  " 

"  Oh,  don't  make  me  pity  you.     You  would  not  j 
want  Kitty  to  marry  you  out  of  pity." 

"  Yes,  I  do.     I  'd  take  her  on  any  terms." 

"  Now  look  at  the    matter  practically.     I  can  f 
fancy  you  sitting  down  and  laughing  at  your  pre 
dicament  with  a  helpless  young  wife." 

"  If  we  both  sat  down  and  laughed  together  "  — , 

"  That  sort  of  laugh  shortly  becomes  grim  and 
tragic." 

"  Oh,  John  could  put  me  in  the  way  of  "  — 

"  Mr.  Haliburton  could  not  put  you  in  the  way,' 
of  being  the  man  to  whom  I  could  entrust  ray 
child.  It 's  Kitty  I  am  thinking  of.  It  is  Kitty, 
that  I  should  have  to  give  up.  My  child.  I  should 
not  be  thinking  of  whether  she  could  have  one  ser 
vant  or  five ;  one  course  for  her  dinner  or  six." 

"  Or  none  at  all,"  suggested  Glen. 


YOUTH  SHOWS  BUT  HALF.  239 

"  But  whether  she  could  keep  her  faith,  whether 
each  day  would  bring  her  better  hopes  and  be 
liefs  "  — 

"  I  wish,"  said  Glen,  as  she  broke  off,  "  that  one 
might  matriculate,  as  it  were  —  take  a  course  for 
marriage  as  one  does  for  medicine  or  the  law, 
hear  lectures,  and  pass  an  examination.  I  feel  sure 
I  should  come  out  a  first-class." 

"  Ah,  you  laugh  at  it." 

"  I  dare  not  try  to  convince  you  of  my  earnest 
ness.  You  are  prejudiced  against  me.  The  trou 
ble  is  not  that  I  am  too  absolute  a  failure,  too  poor, 
too  old,  —  but  that "  — 

"  The  trouble  is  that  while  life  is  only  beginning 
for  Kitty,  you  have  lived." 

"  You  prefer  Teddy  Darrow." 

As  Glen  said  this,  a  new  impression  of  the  man 
and  of  his  meaning  all  at  once  startled  Constance. 
Up  to  this  moment  all  that  he  had  said  had  been, 
as  it  were,  calculable,  but  his  look  of  sharp-set 
melancholy,  his  tone  of  sombre  disdain,  suddenly 
'made  her  insight  outrun  her  theory.  There  was 
feeling  in  Glen,  which  so  far  he  had  struggled  with 
ind  put  down,  —  a  strong,  even  a  violent  passion 
which  he  had  not  offered  as  a  plea. 

"  I  prefer  no  one,"  she  made  haste  to  say.  "  I 
feel  about  Kitty  as  the  mother-hen  might  have  felt 
f  asked  how  she  would  prefer  to  have  her  chickens 
served  up,  that  she  did  not  wish  them  to  be  served 
ip  at  all.  I  should  particularly  object  to  Kitty's 
Harrying  any  one  for  five  years  to  come." 


240  TUE  EEVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

"  I  might  do  something  in  five  years." 

Constance  could  not  help  shivering  at  the 
thought  of  a  five  years'  cloud  of  hesitation,  doubt, 
and  expectancy  thickening  over  her  own  and 
Kitty's  life. 

"  Oh,  Glen,"  she  murmured.  "  Kitty  is  eighteen 
years  old." 

"  I  do  not  ask  for  any  engagement.  I  only  ask 
you  to  let  me  have  my  chance.  Let  me  have  those 
five  years,  Conny,  to  show  what  is  in  me,  —  even 
three  of  them.  If  I  could  feel  that  I  had  some 
thing  to  be  constant  to,  —  to  do  my  best  for,  — 
something  that  was  my  own,  —  my  very  own  "  — 

"  Oh  no,  no,  no." 

"  I  only  mean  the  idea  of  her,  —  of  the  way  she 
jumped  up  from  her  chair  when  I  came  in  last 
night ;  the  way  she  stood  looking  at  me.  All  that 
Kitty  feels  for  me  is  my  own,  —  my  own  from  the 
very  beginning.  She  gave  it  to  me  of  her  own  free 
will.  She  does  not  only  belong  to  you." 

"  You  mean  that  she  belongs  in  part  to  you." 

"I  wish  she  did,  God  knows.  What  I  meant 
was  that  she  belongs  to  herself,  that  she  has  some 
right  to  decide  upon  the  worth  of  a  feeling  which 
began  the  very  moment  we  met  last  May." 

Constance  sat  silent,  staring  at  him,  trying  to 
weigh  his  plea.  To  say  to  herself  that  Kitty's 
wishes  or  her  soberest  judgment  had  any  right  to 
be  considered  in  the  matter  would  be  to  let  a  little 
boat  without  compass,  without  even  a  rudder,  drift 
out  into  deep  seas  before  a  gathering  storm.  As- 


YOUTH  SHOWS  BUT  HALF.  241 

suredly  a  mother  has  the  right  to  decide  what  is 
her  duty  by  her  child.  To  say  she  has  no  right  is 
to  deny  the  fact  that  she  is  the  mother.  Yet  if  to 
use  the  right  were  to  pierce  Kitty's  heart  — 

"  Don't  fear  me.  I  will  not  even  touch  her  fin 
gers,"  said  Glen.  Constance  had  a  horrible  feel 
ing  of  perplexity.  She  did  not  entirely  trust  her 
own  feeling  of  passionate  antagonism  to  all  that 
Glen  could  offer,  suggest,  promise. 

"  Have  you  consulted  Mr.  Plaliburton  ? "  she 
asked  forlornly. 

No,  Glen  had  said  not  a  word  to  John  about 
Kitty.  He  confessed  this  rather  shamefacedly. 

"  He  considers  me  still  desperately  in  love  with 
you,"  he  added,  and  they  both  laughed.  "  I  will 
consult  with  him  gladly,"  Glen  added.  Constance 
had  glanced  at  the  clock.  It  was  clear  she  ex 
pected  Kitty  to  return,  and  he  at  once  went  his 
way. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

INS   AND   OUTS. 

HALIBURTON  had  seen  the  change  in  Glen  of 
course,  —  but  the  nature  of  the  change  had  been 
unfathomable  to  his  perceptions.  For  years,  in 
deed  down  to  two  months  back,  all  that  woman 
hood  contained  for  Glen  had  existed  in  Con 
stance.  He  had  had  no  idea  of  any  happiness 
except  what  she  could  give  him. 

"It  was  all  purely  imaginary?"  asked  Hali- 
burton  bewildered.  "  Just  a  trick  of  speech,  —  a 
fashion  of  apprehending  the  charm  of  life  ?  " 

"  Don't  ask  me  to  define  it,"  said  Glen.  "  1 
suppose  I  felt  that  Conny  was  beyond  me.  Kitty 
seems  nearer,  —  more  within  reach." 

"  Are  you  actually  in  love  with  Kitty  ?  " 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  mistrust  me,"  said  Glen ; 
"  I  think  Conny  herself  mistrusted  me,  I  said 
so  little  about  my  present  feeling.  But  when  a 
man  has  once  had  his  say  out  he  rather  sickens 
of  saying  it  over  again." 

"  But  just  a  little  while  ago  yon  were  in  love 
with  the  marchesa."  Haliburton  was  about  to 
add  that  only  a  few  weeks  before  lie  had  been 
pleading  with  Constance,  almost  entreating  her  to 
marry  Glen. 


INS  AND   OUTS.  243 

"  It  is  quite  possible,"  Glen  observed  after  a 
moment's  thought,  "that  even  now  if  I  saw  them 
both  struggling  in  the  water  unable  to  swim,  the 
one  I  should  make  an  effort  to  save  would  be  Con 
stance." 

"  Then  you  love  her  best." 

"No,  I  don't.  But  I  shan't  explain.  Kitty  is 
mine ;  Constance  never  was  mine.  That  makes 
all  the  difference.  Constance  is  too  perfect,  too 
far  above  me  — '  beauty  too  rich  for  use.'  For 
Constance  is  far  more  beautiful  than  Kitty.  I 
always  did  feel  that  if  Constance  were  to  accept 
me,  my  happiness  would  strike  me  dead.  I  should 
have  burned  up  in  pure  flame  —  a  masculine 
Semele." 

To  teach  himself  that  Glen  was  in  love  with 
Constance,  and  that  he  himself  must  be  loyal  to 
Glen,  had  so  long  been  a  point  of  honor  with  Hali- 
burton  he  hardly  ventured  to  reckon  on  a  different 
basis.  Indeed,  this  new  love  affair  seemed  too 
much  like  one  of  Glen's  haphazard  impulses. 
And  now,  as  if  to  deepen  the  impression  that  he 
was  talking  at  random,  Glen  must  go  and  say  that 
if  he  were  to  save  one  of  the  two  women  from 
drowning,  it  would  be  the  mother. 

Haliburton  pressed  question  after  question. 

"  I  simply  need  to  understand,"  he  said. 

Glen  ended  by  kindling  altogether.  His  feeling 
for  Kitty,  his  daily  comfort  in  her,  his  great  long 
ing  need  of  her,  all  passed  into  speech.  When  had 
it  happened  that  he  fell  out  of  love  with  Constance 


244  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

and  in  love  with  Kitty?  He  had  never  been  in 
love  with  Constance.  It  was  a  young  poet's  metier 
to  adore,  and  he  had  adored.  Haliburton  might 
have  said  to  himself  that  this  over-nice  balancing 
of  feeling  on  a  needle-point  ought  to  have  come 
earlier.  He  dared  not  think  of  the  emancipation 
which  might  lie  in  Constance's  being  free. 

"  Are  you  sure  that  this  is  a  real  feeling  for 
Kitty  —  not  a  mere,  foolish  vagary  ?  "  Haliburton 
demanded. 

But  when  Glen  answered  in  speech  like  flame, 
there  was  still  another  question  besides  the  real 
ity  of  Glen's  passion  for  Kitty,  or  Kitty's  feel 
ing  for  Glen.  Haliburton  said  that  he  must  have 
a  talk  with  the  marchesa,  and  on  the  following 
clay,  after  this  talk  had  taken  place,  he  was  in  a 
less  bewildered  state  of  mind. 

"  I  know,"  Haliburton  had  begun  by  saying  to 
Constance,  "  that  Glen  has  given  you  a  good  deal 
of  trouble.  But  if  I  know  Glen  at  all  he  is  get 
ting  over  his  early  faults,  —  the  sort  of  faults 
which  are  apt  to  beset  clever  men  before  they  have 
a  real  career.  He  is  something  more  than  a  clever 
man,  —  he  is  a  fine  fellow,  a  dear  fellow." 

"  Oh  yes,  Glen  is  charming,"  Constance  replied. 
"  But  all  the  more  because  he  is  charming  he  will 
make  Kitty  miserable." 

When  Haliburton  waited  for  her  to  explain  she 
went  on,  — 

"  He  has  all    sorts  of   talents  ;  he    dazzles   her 


INS  AND  OUTS.  245 

with  them  ;  then  his  quick  changes  of  mind,  when 
ever  a  fresh  whim  seizes  him,  amuse  and  interest 
her.  He  has,  besides,  a  sort  of  magnetic  power 
over  her,  —  I  mean  the  sort  of  influence  which 
carries  her  off  her  feet.  She  would  not  know  right 
from  wrong,  black  from  white,  if  he  wished  to  make 
her  think  and  feel  as  he  chose." 

u  Does  not  this  show  "  —  Haliburton  bea'an. 

O 

"  It  shows  me  that  I  ought  not  to  have  let  her 
see  him  so  much.  It  had  not  occurred  to  me  when 
I  saw  them  chatting  and  laughing  together  that 
such  terms  of  intimacy  were  anything  more  than 
cousinly.  I  had  forgotten  that  young  girls  were 
so  impressionable.  I  had  forgotten,  too,  that  men 
love  youth,  —  love  it  insatiably." 

Haliburton  would  have  tried  to  soften  this  gen 
eralization,  at  least  to  make  her  objection  more 
narrow  and  specific. 

"  I  find  a  great  deal  of  fault  with  myself,"  Con 
stance  made  haste  to  say.  "  I  seem  to  have  gone 
on  permitting  Glen  to  keep  up  the  fiction  of  his 
caring  about  me.  I  do  not  need  to  explain  to  you, 
for  you  know,  Mr.  Haliburton,  that  twelve  years 
ago  Glen  asked  me  to  marry  him,  —  asked  me  two 
or  three  times  over.  He  left  Italy  and  I  saw  him 
no  more  until  I  met  him  here.  I  had  refused 
him,  perhaps  a  little  too  much  on  the  ground  that 
I  should  never  marry  again.  What  I  ought  to 
have  told  him  was  that  I  did  not  love  him,  —  could 
not  love  him  ;  that  as  a  friend,  a  cousin,  a  com 
rade,  I  enjoyed  him,  but  that  no  closer  tie  was  pos- 


246  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

sible.  As  it  was,  it  seems  as  if  I  had  permitted 
him  to  sacrifice  all  these  twelve  years  to  a  fantasy. 
Then  when  he  saw  me  again  he  found  out  what  a 
false  and  unreal  fantasy  it  was.  Actually  I  had 
robbed  him,  left  him  hungering  and  thirsting  in 
the  wilderness.  He  wanted  something  real,  — 
something  to  amuse  and  stimulate  him,  —  and 
Kitty  has  fascinated  him  for  the  moment." 

It  was  clear  to  Haliburton  that  Constance's 
mind  was  quite  made  up.  She  had  marshaled 
every  possible  argument ;  she  had  had  time  to  get 
behind  intrenchments  and  was  ready  to  stand  a 
siege  if  need  be.  She  objected  to  Glen,  but  what 
she  particularly  objected  to  was  giving  up  Kitty. 
She  was  nervously  excited,  in  a  state  of  extreme 
tension,  although  from  force  of  habit  she  made  an 
effort  to  appear  tranquil  and  self-possessed.  Hali- 
burton  had  to  own  that  he  had  not,  in  this  crisis,  the 
courage  or  the  presumption  to  offer  advice.  He 
heard  what  she  had  to  say,  then  went  back  to  Glen. 

"  She  says  that  either  she  must  take  Kitty  away 
or  you  must  go  away,"  Avas  his  message. 

Glen  had  listened  to  the  account  of  the  inter 
view  so  far  with  an  intensely  eager  face. 

"  Of  course  I  shall  go  away  at  once,"  he  now 
said. 

Haliburton  put  his  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder. 

"  I  told  her  you  would  do  so." 

"  I  must  see  Kitty  first." 

"  Yes,  you  can  see  her,  —  but  not  alone." 


INS  AND   OUTS.  247 

"  Oil  no,  not  alone.  If  you  told  me  I  could  see 
her  alone  I  should  say,  '  No,  John,  I  prefer  to  have 
you  with  me.'  ' 

"  What  the  marchesa  really  hopes  is  that  the 
whole  affair  may  die  out.  She  will  be  grateful  to 
you  if  you  will  raise  no  expectations,  no  hopes  of 
any  ultimate  engagement  in  Kitty's  mind." 

"  Does  she  suppose  that  we  are  as  mummies,  — • 
that  we  have  no  blood  in  our  veins,  no  faith  in 
!  our  hearts  ?  " 

)"  You  know  what  she  means." 
"  Better  than  she  knows  what  I  mean.  The 
trouble  is  with  Conny,  she  is  too  cut-and-dried. 
She  married  Phil  Amory  because  she  could  n't 
help  it,  —  because  the  whole  thing  was  arranged  ; 
then  when  he  died  she  married  a  dreary  old 
pedant  because  it  seemed  safe.  She  does  n't  know 
what  love  is,  —  she  has  led  such  a  monotonous, 
such  a  dispassionate  life." 

"  She  loves  Kitty." 

"  I  wish  she  did  n't,"  said  Glen  illogically. 
"  If  she  would  let  me  have  Kitty  the  transport  of 
it  would  give  me  a  capacity  for  work.  Kitty 
would  enjoy  the  combat  —  the  struggle  of  the  race 
in  midstream.  She  would  kindle  at  the  danger  of 
it ;  she  would  rather  like  whirlpools  and  rapids." 

"  A  man  ought  to  be  able  to  say  to  the  woman 
with  whom  he  plunges  into  the  current,  '  Trust  me, 
I  can  swim  for  both.'  ' 

They  dropped  into  silence  for  a  while.  Hali- 
burton  looked  at  Glen  from  time  to  time  and  saw 


248  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

that  his  brow  was  furrowed,  his  eyes  dark  and 
troubled,  his  teeth  set  hard. 

"  I  shall  not  give  her  up,"  he  said  finally.  "  I 
mean  that  she  shall  be  my  wife.  It  would  kill  me 
to  think  of  stopping  just  here.  Why,  John,  I  did 
not  even  kiss  her." 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  had  so  much  self-restraint." 

"  She  is  so  young,"  said  Glen,  with  a  sigh. 
"  There  was  just  a  thin  fragile  barrier  like  a  veil 
between  ITS  that  evening.  She  had  somehow  grown 
exquisitely  shy,  —  until  then  she  had  not  known 
what  fear  of  me  was.  I  did  n't  disturb  it." 
Something  stirred  his  recollection  and  he  laughed. 
"  Trying  to  recall  afterwards  what  she  said  I  could 
hardly  think  of  a  word.  She  was  like  the  French 
girl  in  a  pretty  little  thing  somebody  wrote  whose 
mother  tells  her  to  say  nothing  to  a  man  except 
'CM,  monsieur!7  but  who  says  'OA,  monsieur!' 
with  such  effectiveness,  with  so  many  intonations, 
with  so  many  nice  shades  of  expression,  that  all 
is  said."  Glen  jumped  up  and  began  pacing  the 
room.  "  When  one  is  in  love,"  he  now  said,  "  every 
fact,  every  detail  of  the  passion  seems  an  absolutely 
fresh  thing  in  the  mind's  history,  —  but  everybody 
who  can  hold  a  pen  has  been  fooling  over  descrip 
tions  of  it  since  hieroglyphics  were  invented."  He 
came  back  presently  to  Haliburton. 

"  I  '11  go  to  town  and  stay  until  I  finish  up  the 
six  weeks,"  he  said,  "  then  I  had  already  decided 
to  take  that  place  in  New  York.  Suppose  I  were 
to  succeed,  —  suppose  I  were  to  make  enough  to 


INS  AND  OUTS.  249 

Hive  on,  —  I  tell  you,  John,  I  shall  hold  out  my 
arms  to  Kitty  and  she  shall  come." 

"  She  would  never  marry  you  without  her 
mother's  consent." 

"  She  shall  marry  me,  I  say.  That  is,  if  I  have 
the  pluck  and  the  health  to  get  on." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

GLEN    SAYS   GOOD-BY. 

KITTY  had  waked  up  on  the  morning  after 
Glen's  visit  feeling  perfectly  happy.  The  beauty 
and  the  wonder  of  the  clear  knowledge  that  Glen 
really  loved  her  still  overmastered  her  intellect  as 
well  as  her  fancy.  The  experience  had  lifted  her 
off  her  feet ;  she  felt  as  if  she  floated  rather  than 
walked.  Nothing  was  an  effort.  It  seemed  so 
natural,  so  necessary,  to  be  more  grateful,  more 
loving,  more  appreciative  than  she  had  ever  been 
before,  more  anxious  to  make  others  happy.  The 
cook  sent  up  a  little  dish  for  luncheon  of  which 
Kitty  was  especially  fond  ;  she  must  run  down  toj 
the  kitchen  to  thank  Martha  for  the  galantine. 
The  man  was  going  round  and  round  the  lawn, 
clipping  the  grass ;  it  seemed  to  her  such  good 
ness  that  Perry  should  expose  himself  to  this  hoi 
sun  for  their  comfort,  she  ran  out  to  him  bare, 
headed  with  a  glass  of  lemonade.  She  would  hav(; 
offered  something  to  the  horse  who  drew  the  mow 
ing-machine,  but  Perry,  much  refreshed  by  hi; 
cooling  draught,  wiped  his  lips  on  the  sleeve  o 
his  blue  shirt,  and,  thanking  her  kindly,  told  he 
the  beast  was  used  to  it. 


GLEN  SAYS  GOOD-BY.  251 

|  How  beautiful  the  world  was  that  day  and  the 
following  days.  The  very  way  the  tops  of  the  great 
ulip-trees  rested  against  the  sky  was  enough  to 
ive  for.  On  the  terrace  were  two  pergolas  of 
lematis,  —  one  all  over  great  white  stars  and  the 
•ther  purple.  To  sit  and  look  at  them  was  a  reve- 
ation  of  form  and  color.  To  see  a  humming-bird 
;>oise  itself  before  the  red  flowers  of  the  trumpet- 
ireeper  was  an  experience  to  watch  for  hour  by 
nour.  Still,  although  silence  and  reverie  held  so 
touch,  she  overflowed  with  talk  the  moment  she 
yas  with  any  one,  —  she  was  ready  to  listen  and 
'ympathize  even  more  than  she  talked.  Richard 
iLmory  suddenly  found  that  he  could  pour  out  all 
ris  sombre  ruminations,  his  sharp-set  criticisms  of 
ife  to  Kitty.  He  could  tell  her  his  whole  story. 

"  Thy  child  is  all  at  once  a  woman,"  he  observed 
b  Constance. 

1  Constance  winced  at  the  word.  She  would  not 
'dm it  it  to  herself,  but  she  was  conscious  that  there 
'ras  an  inexplicable  difference  in  her  own  inter- 
ourse  with  Kitty.  Yet  the  young  girl  had  never 
ja  her  life  been  so  humble,  so  anxious  to  please  her 
lother.  She  listened  attentively  to  the  least  word, 
er  eyes  resting  on  Constance's  as  if  waiting  to 
ear  more ;  when  she  answered,  her  voice  softened 
nd  grew  more  caressing. 

•  They  happened  at  this  time  to  be  entertaining 
riends  for  a  few  days,  and  this  was,  Constance  be- 
^eved,  a  fortunate  circumstance,  and  helped  to 
ridge  over  an  awkward  interval.  There  had  been 


252  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTEE. 

no  allusion  to  Glen  since  the  evening  when  they 
had  said  so  much.  Kitty  had  asked  no  questions, 
she  had  apparently  felt  no  anxieties,  not  even 
curiosity. 

It  was  a  very  hot  day  when  Haliburton  took 
Glen  over  to  make  his  farewell  visit  to  Waldstein. 
Constance  knew  that  they  were  to  come,  and  said 
to  her  guests  after  luncheon  that  they  would  have 
tea  under  the  tulip-trees  at  five  o'clock.  Upstairs 
she  observed  to  Kitty,  — 

"  Glen  is  coming  to  say  good-by." 

"To  say  good-by?"  Kitty  repeated  as  if  in  a 
dream.  But  Constance  noticed  that  she  turned 
from  red  to  white  and  from  white  to  red,  and  sat 
down  suddenly  as  if  needing  support. 

"  He  is  going  away  for  a  time,"  Constance  said. 
"  We  have  talked  everything  over,  and  it  seems 
best." 

While  Constance  was  speaking  Kitty  looked  at 
her  with  intense  eagerness.  The  young  girl  was 
presently  quite  tranquil  again  and  self-possessed ; 
a  smile  hovered  about  her  lips.  But  when  she  rose 
to  go  into  her  own  room  she  tottered  slightly. 

"  The  heat  overpowers  me,"  she  murmured.  She 
sank  down  011  the  window-seat  and  soon  fell  asleep. 
At  a  quarter  before  five  Constance,  dressed  and 
ready  to  go  down,  awoke  her. 

"Time  to  dress,  dear,"  she  said.  "I  have  pir 
out  your  thinnest  frock.  It  is  so  very  warm." 

She  descended,  and  it  was  not  long  before  Hali  ! 
burton  and   Glen  emerged  from    the   woods   anc 


GLEN  SAYS  GOOD-SY.  253 

Crossed  the  lawn.  Constance,  her  brother,  and 
:heir  three  guests  were  sitting  together  by  the  tea- 
:able,  but  Kitty  was  not  there. 

"  Kitty  will  be  down  presently,"  Constance  said, 
observing  Glen's  wandering  glance,  and  when  she 
jaw,  after  a  time,  a  flutter  of  white  in  the  door- 
Vay,  she  remarked  to  him,  "  There  she  is." 
,  She  seemed  not  only  to  permit  him  to  go  and 
neet  Kitty,  but  to  expect  it.  Nevertheless,  her 
nagnanimity  put  Glen  freshly  on  his  guard.  He 
valked  towards  the  young  girl  apparently  with  his 
ordinary  nonchalance,  and  stood  waiting  at  the 
loot  of  the  steps  for  her  to  descend.  He  forgot  to 
ipeak  for  a  moment.  In  a  thin,  white  dress,  which, 
vith  its  light  ample  breadths  floated  airily  about 
ler,  her  throat  and  head  rising  out  of  delicate,  crisp 
jrillings  of  lace,  she  looked  fairer,  softer,  more 
ixquisite  than  he  had  ever  seen  her.  She  was  not 
•ale,  rather  rosy  instead,  and  there  was  spread 
j-ver  her  whole  face,  her  motion,  her  manner,  a 
fort  of  dreaminess  ;  her  eyes  met  his  with  a  lan- 
ruor  which  was  new  to  him. 

"  I  have  been  asleep,"  she  said,  with  humble 
rpology.  "  Indeed,  I  am  half  asleep  now.  It  is  so 
/arm." 

:  "  Asleep  are  you,  you  baby  ?  "  murmured  Glen, 
railing  at  her. 

•  They  did  not  shake  hands.  It  seemed  to  Glen 
s  if  she  took  his  presence  quite  passively;  she 
id  not  after  the  first  moment  try  to  meet  his 
yes.  He  could  only  utter  words  of  banter.  He 


254  TIIE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

felt  moved  to  the  deepest  tenderness,  but  the  veriest 
nonsense  came  from  his  lips.  He  had  hardly  slept 
of  late ;  all  to-day  he  had  been  thinking  of  what 
he  should  say  to  her,  or  rather  what  he  could  leave 
unsaid,  and  yet  utter  one  speech,  one  final  word 
which  should  reach  her  heart,  —  like  a  seed  which 
might  swell,  put  forth  its  root,  and  fix  itself  there. 
It  was  fairly  comical  to  him  that  at  this  moment 
she  should  be  drowsy,  inert,  half  indifferent.  But 
he  liked  it.  He  would  not  even  say,  — 

"  Kathleen  mavourneen,  awake  from  thy  slumbers." 

He  was  moved  rather  to  tread  softly,  to  hush  every 
suggestion  that  could  rouse  her.  He  felt  enough 
for  both. 

Kitty  went  straight  to  the  table  after  giving  her 
fingers  to  Haliburton  as  she  passed.  She  always 
served  the  tea  when  they  had  it  out  of  doors.  She 
took  the  eyes  of  all  the  group,  so  that  they  dropped 
their  talk.  Constance  almost  held  her  breath  as 
she  looked  at  her  daughter.  Kitty  had  been  grow 
ing  prettier  and  prettier  all  summer ;  at  this  mo 
ment  she  had  burst  into  delicate  bloom,  like  a 
wonderful  hothouse  rose.  And  it  was  all  foi 
Glen.  He  was  to  carry  away  this  impression  oJ 
her,  —  a  bewitched,  undying  sense  of  the  girl's 
sweetness  and  loveliness  which  would  fix  itself  ii 
his  permanent  consciousness. 

The  tea  to-day  was  a  sort  of  punch  ;  there  was  ! 
great  bowl  full  of  lumps  of  ice  and  slices  of  pine 
apple  and  lemon  on  which  strong,  hot  tea  hax 


GLEN  SAYS  GOOD-BY.  255 

been  poured.  Kitty  ladled  it  out  into  little  glass 
pups  with  handles,  and  took  them,  two  at  a  time, 
•ind  offered  one  to  the  right  and  the  other  to  the 
Ift. 

"  Ah,  Kitty,  Kitty,"  said  Richard  Amory,  shak- 
ng  his  head  at  her,  "  thee  told  me  yesterday  thee 
;vas  a  good  Quaker,  but  thee  does  not  look  like  a 
rood  Quaker  to-day." 

,  She  smiled  and  nodded,  but  there  seemed  to  be 
i  dullness  in  her  head,  a  roaring  in  her  ears.  Per- 
laps  her  heart  was  beating  too  fast.  Presently, 
vhen  she  had  given  everybody  tea,  she  sat  down 
:m  the  nearest  bench,  feeling  quite  helpless. 

Glen  had  waited,  and  now  came  and  sat  down 
Beside  her. 

"  Are  you  still  asleep  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Fast  asleep." 

!  "  Well,  I  am  glad ;  I  can  say  what  I  please ;  I 
lave  to  say  it ;  you  need  not  listen.  It  is  not  very 
,mportant.  Did  I  tell  you  the  other  night  that  I 
,oved  you  ?  Well,  to-day  I  love  you  just  one  thou- 
;and  times  more  than  I  loved  you  then.  Do  you 
lear  ?  Just  one  thousand  times  more." 
'.  She  looked  away  from  him.  A  great  wave  of 
exultation  seemed  to  rise  in  her  and  almost  over 
power  her.  She  felt  blindly  for  her  fan.  It  was 
le  who  lifted  it  from  her  lap  and  began  to  fan  her. 

"  But  your  mother  will  not  give  her  consent  to 
,mr  marriage,"  he  went  on.  "  And  I  am  going 
iway.  I  shall  not  see  you  again,  perhaps,  for  a 
ong  while  ;  I  shall  not  write  to  you  ;  I  shall  leave 


256  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

you  to  forget  me,  if  you  can  and  will.  But  I  do 
not  think  you  will  find  it  too  easy.  It  seems  to  me 
that  what  I  feel  for  you  and  what  you  feel  for  me 
is  too  sweet  —  oh,  too  surpassingly  sweet  —  to  melt 
away  and  leave  no  trace." 

"  I  shall  not  forget  you,"  said  Kitty,  and  she 
turned  and  looked  at  him  an  instant  with  a  calm 
timidity. 

"You  must  make  me  no  promises,"  said  Glen. 
"  I  wish  your  mother  to  feel  that  I  have  not  bound 
you  by  one  single  word  that  could  hamper  your  abso 
lute  free  play.  But  I  am  yours,  Kitty,  absolutely. 
I  shall  think  of  you  all  the  time.  Even  though  you 
do  not  hear  my  name  for  months  and  months,  I 
shall  not  only  have  been  thinking  of  you,  but. 
working  for  you.  I  am  tired  of  being  a  failure. 
If  there  is  anything  in  me  it  is  going  to  come  out 
now.  I  am  going  to  take  my  life,  my  brain,  my 
heart,  my  nerves  between  my  two  hands,  as  it 
were,  and  compel  them  to  give  me  something.  li 
it  kills  me,  —  why  then  it  is  over  and  done  with, 
That  problem  is  ended.  But,  Kitty,  if  I  die,  al 
through  your  long  life,  and  I  hope  your  happy  life 
just  remember  that  one  poor  fellow  was  eternally 
grateful  to  you." 

"You  must  not  even  think  of  such  a  thing,"  saic 
Kitty.  "  Of  course  you  will  not  die." 

Her  childish,  despotic  air,  her  petulance,  restora 
Glen  to  his  balance.  He  laughed.  The  shadowy 
index  hand  pointing  to  the  loss  of  all  things,  th 
dearest  things,  was  not  seen  by  Kitty.  A  littl 


GLEN  SAYS  GOOD-BY.  257 

more  and  he  would  have  been  lachrymose.  He  had 
had  his  say,  and  Constance  had  not  once  glanced  in 
his  direction.  It  is,  however,  presumable  that  she 
was  not  insensible  when  he  rose  from  Kitty's  side, 
came  back  to  the  group,  joined  in  the  talk,  then 
presently  took  his  leave  along  with  Haliburton, 
saying  to  one  after  the  other  "  Good-by  "  without 
any  particular  emphasis. 

"  Good-by,  Kitty." 

"  Good-by,  cousin  Glen." 

Constance  heard  these  words  with  an  unspeak 
able  relief.  Kitty  stood  looking  after  the  two  men 
as  they  crossed  the  grounds.  As  he  entered  the 
path  under  the  trees,  Glen  turned,  looked  back, 
and  waved  his  hand.  Kitty  raised  hers  in  return, 
then  she  sat  down  as  if  at  the  end  of  her  strength. 

Constance  went  up  to  her. 

"  Kitty,  dear,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  mamma." 

"  We  shall  miss  cousin  Glen  dreadfully." 

"  Dreadfully,"  Kitty  repeated.  It  was  not,  how 
ever,  the  tone  of  one  who  is  left  uncomforted. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A    BIRD    IN   THE    SOLITUDE    SINGING. 

OTHER  people  missed  Glendenning  Rennie  after 
he  had  gone.  One  of  them  was  Haliburton. 

»  Pray  come  and  go  exactly  as  if  nothing  had 
taken  place,"  Constance  said  to  him. 

But  there  was  a  difference,  nevertheless.  Glen's 
absence  hung  heavily  upon  Haliburton  when  he 
was  at  home.  He  felt  a  vague  discomfort,  —  a  dis 
comfort  which  gradually  defined  itself  as  a  restless 
curiosity  about  the  future.  He  still  saw  Glen  in 
town,  and  twice  Glen  came  out  for  the  evening. 
There  was  much  talk  between  the  two.  The  first 
question  Glen  asked,  was  whether  John  had  seen 
Constance  and  Kitty ;  he  was  eager  for  the  most 
minute  details.  Haliburton  had  little  to  tell,  ex 
cept  that  it  was  evident  the  marchesa  and  Kitty 
were  on  the  easiest  of  terms,  simply  and  frankly 
depending  on  each  other  and  doing  everything  to 
gether. 

Glen  bore  no  grudge  against  Constance.  He 
perfectly  understood  her  doubts  of  him.  She  had 
offered  him  sharp  tonics,  and  they  had  braced  him. 
He  was  proud  of  himself  for  having  a  mind  for 
tonics.  In  place  of  the  old  anguish  of  despair  he 


A   BIRD  IN    THE  SOLITUDE  SINGING.      259 

.  was  now  full  of  another  emotion,  —  that  of  present 
1  happiness    and  desires  and  beliefs  in  the  future. 
He  confessed  himself  absolutely  commonplace  and 
sordid  in    his    ambitions.       Constance    might  not 
care  for  money  in  itself,  but  money  meant  sub 
stance,  solidity.     Hitherto  he  had  lived  by  caprice  ; 
he  had  sacrificed  none  of  his  individuality  ;  he  had 
substituted  ideas  of  what  he  liked  for  action.     Now 
there  was  to  be  no  pause,  no  let-up.    He  had  already 
found  a  place  in  a  publishing  house  in  New  York. 
"I  told  them,"  he  remarked  to  John,  "that  I 
;  had  taken  two  degrees,  that  I  understood  Latin, 
!  Greek,  Sanskrit,  a  little  Hebrew ;  that  I  not  only 
;  read  but  spoke  fluently  five   modern   languages : 
;  that  I  was  a  good  stenographer,  could  operate  the 
'  type-writing  machine,    had   published   a   book  of 
!  poems  besides  having  written  both  prose  and  poetry 
i  for  magazines ;  that  I  had  conducted  newspapers 
;  and  been  a  musical,  dramatic,  and  art  critic.    They 
offered  me  at  first  fifty  dollars  a  month,  but  when 
I  told  them  I  habitually  worked  nineteen  hours  a 
day,  they  raised  it  to  eighty.     You  see  genius  and 
•  merit  do  tell  even  in  this  world." 

"  Perhaps  when  they  find  out  what  a  clever  dog 
you  really  are  they  will  double  the  salary,"  said 
Haliburton. 

"  Oh,  I  shall  get  on,"  said  Glen.  "  Only  I  wish, 
John,  that  now  and  then  you  would  put  Kitty  in 
mind  of  me." 

Haliburton  was  ready  enough  to  do  it.  What 
chilled  and  dispirited  him  was  that  Constance  and 


260  THE  EEVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

Kitty  had  begun  to  settle  down  as  it  were  upon 
new  terms  ;  there  was  a  suggestion  that  a  disturb 
ing,  harassing  element  had  gone  out  of  their  lives ; 
that  in  Glen's  absence  the  marchesawas  reappro- 
priating  Kitty,  drawing  her  closer.  Once  more 
he  had  that  feeling  that  there  was  no  place  in 
Constance's  life  for  himself.  Her  unalterable  se 
renity  and  completeness  moved  him  to  dejection. 
Of  course  she  was  perfectly  happy  with  Kitty.  No 
love  can  surpass  that  of  a  parent  for  a  child.  Hali- 
burton  said  dryly  to  himself,  that  no  doubt  if  he 
had  married  at  the  age  of  twenty -five,  he  too  might 
be  wrapped  up  in  his  offspring,  but  having  no  chil 
dren,  and  being  in  love  with  Constance,  he  had  no 
sufficient  satisfaction  in  his  life,  and  he  viewed  with 
jealous  disquietude  her  complete  intercourse  with 
Kitty,  who  turned  to  her  mother  for  interpretation 
of  all  her  ideas,  hopes,  intuitions,  and  beliefs. 

Other  people  besides  even  Haliburton  missed 
Glendenning  Rennie,  and  one  of  them  was  Agatha 
Darrow. 

The  Ambury  Darrows  had  been  away  at  the  sea 
side.  When  they  came  back  about  the  middle  of 
September,  they  brought  new  life  and  animation 
to  the  quiet  neighborhood.  Everybody  was  com 
ing  and  going  ;  questions  were  asked ;  whatever 
one  was  doing  had  to  be  explained  in  due  and 
logical  order.  Sue  had  a  thousand  new  ideas ;  a 
hundred  schemes.  Agatha  had  one. 

"  And  you  have  been  going  on  in  just  the  same 
way,"  Agatha  said  to  Constance  and  Kitty.  "  Just 


A  BIRD  IN   THE  SOLITUDE  SINGING.      261 

the  same  coming  down  to  breakfast,  talking,  read 
ing,  seeing  the  same  tiresome  people.  Oh,  how 
wonderful  you  are,  never  to  be  thoroughly  weary 
of  your  life." 

"  You  have  had  delightful  times  of  course,"  said 
Constance.  "  Everything  has  been  fresh,  new,  and 
vividly  interesting." 

"  Nothing  was  ever  so  dreary,"  said  Gatty.     "  I 
did  not  care  for  anything  in  the  least.     One  has 
to  fall  into  the  fiction  that  society  is  delightful,  or 
else  it  is  the  most  absurd  business.     The  first  thing 
one  does  when  one  goes  to  a  summer  resort  is  to 
i  see   people   and    hear  what   everybody   is    doing. 
'  Oh,  how  nice  ! '  one  says.     Then  one  does  what 
i  everybody  else  is  doing.     '  Oh,  how  tiresome  ! '  one 
'  thinks.     Still   one   goes   on  exchanging   phrases : 
1  '  How  do  you  take  your  tea  ?  '     '  Ah  yes,  this  is 
delicious.'     '  Do  you  like  the  seaside  or  the  moun 
tains  best  ?  '     If  I  were  to  reply,  — 

'  Two  voices  are  there  ;  one  is  of  the  sea, 
One  of  the  mountains,  each  a  mighty  voice,' 

they  would  consider  me  cracked.  I  have  not  had 
a  real  human  talk  since  I  went  away.  I  want  a 
real  human  talk.  May  Kitty  come  and  walk  with 
me  in  the  woods,  marchesa  ?  " 

"  She  will  be  delighted,  I  am  sure."  The  two 
girls  set  out  at  once. 

There  was  still  the  gold-green  glimmer  of  sum 
mer  through  the  woods.  The  snakeweed  and  the 

o 

beard-tongue  still  carried  the  last  of  their  frail, 
white  flowers  which  lighted  up  the  twilight  of  the 


262  THE  EEVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTEB. 

deeper  thickets,  and  the  asters'  star-like  blossoms 
in  blue  and  violet  were  everywhere.  The  little  rill, 
which  through  the  hot  months  had  been  almost 
dried  to  its  source,  now  slid,  singing,  through  mossy 
margins.  Agatha  paused  and  looked  down  into  the 
leaf-strewn  spring  under  a  green  bank. 

"I  wanted  to  take  this  walk  again,''  she  ex 
claimed.  "  Do  you  know  when  I  took  it  last?" 

"  Before  you  went  to  the  seaside  ?  " 

"  The  last  day  Glen  was  here,"  said  Agatha. 

Kitty  looked  at  Agatha,  her  eyes  quickened  by 
expectation. 

The  sound  of  that  interdicted  name  fell  on  her 
ears  like  music,  reminding  her  that  deep  down  in 
her  soul  there  lay  a  whole  world  of  meaning,  hid 
den,  sacred,  to  which  nobody  could  be  admitted. 
Had  Agatha  glanced  at  Kitty  at  this  moment,  a 
part  of  her  secret  must  have  been  discovered. 

"  I  was  coming  along  the  path,"  Agatha  con 
tinued,  looking  about  her  as  if  to  be  sure  of  the 
exact  locality,  "  when  I  met  him.  lie  stopped  short 
before  me  and  asked  where  I  was  going.  I  replied 
that  I  was  going  nowhere  in  particular,  and  he  re 
marked  that  he  would  go  there  with  me.  So  we 
went  on  side  by  side.  At  first  I  talked,  but  find 
ing  that  he  not  only  made  no  response  but  did  not 
even  take  the  trouble  to  listen,  I,  too,  said  not  one 
word.  When  we  came  to  this  spring  he  glanced  at 
it  and  murmured,  — 

'  In  the  desert  a  fountain  is  springing.' 

He  said  it  dreamily  ;  he  walked  on  just  as  we  are 


A  BIRD  IN   THE  SOLITUDE  SINGING.      263 

walking  now,  and  when  we  reacted  that  group  of 
oaks,  he  broke  silence  again,  — 

'  In  the  wide  waste  there  still  is  a  tree.' 

He  said  it  as  he  says  so  many  things,  you  know, 
:  Kitty,  with  a  little  suggestion  of  whim  and  mis 
chief,  —  his  eyes  half  closed,  his  lips  rather  smil- 
|ing.  Then  all  at  once  a  thrush  gave  its  note,  — 
first  the  whistle  and  then  the  carol. 

'  And  a  bird  in  the  solitude  singing,' 

he  added,  and  not  another  word  did  I  hear  from 
him  until  we  came  to  the  edge  of  the  wood,  when 
he  suddenly  held  out  his  hand  and  said,  'Good- 
by,  Gatty,'  and  was  off  like  a  flash." 

Kitty  had  sunk  down  on  the  stump  of  a  tree. 
She  was  laughing,  —  an  irresistible  little  gurgling 
laugh. 

"  It  was  droll,  was  it  not  ?  "  said  Gatty  ;  "  just  like 
:Glen.  But,  oh,  it  made  me  raging,  furious." 

"  But  why  ?  "  demanded  Kitty. 

"  Don't  you  see  ?" 

"No." 

"  Of  course ;  you  are  an  innocent  child.  You 
had  not  noticed  what  had  been  going  on.  It  was 
the  merest  flirtation.  He  understands  me,  and  he 
does  not  adore  me.  I  don't  pretend  to  understand 
him ;  I  do  not  adore  him,  but  he  interests  me  ;  I 
love  to  hear  him  talk ;  I  love  to  have  him  look  at 
me.  The  way  his  eyes  travel  over  my  face  simply 
puts  me  in  good  humor.  I  do  not  think  I  really 
care  for  him  in  the  least,  but  yet  in  a  way  I  care 


264  THE  EEVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

for  him  more  than  I  ever  cared  for  anybody  in  my 
life.  And  he  knows  it.  He  knows  that  he  moves 
me  ;  he  knows  that  he  can  play  upon  me  ;  he  knows 
that  if  he  were  to  make  any  real  attempt  to  win  a 
genuine  response,  all  my  defiance,  all  my  theories, 
would  shrivel  up  and  be  without  the  least  efficacy. 
He  has  talked  to  me  endlessly ;  he  loves  to  talk  to 
me,  he  says.  He  is  audacious  ;  he  does  not  stop  at 
a  trifle  "  - 

"  Gatty  !  "  cried  Kitty,  as  if  she  were  in  pain. 

"  Well  ?  "  answered  Agatha,  breaking  off  in  the 
midst  of  her  confession  and  looking  with  astonish 
ment  at  Kitty's  pale  face  and  burning  eyes. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  cousin  Glen  —  made  —  love 
_to  —  you  ?  " 

"  You  put  it  so  solemnly.  I  mean  that  he  has 
been  playing  with  me  as  a  cat  plays  with  a  mouse. 
For  a  month  all  interest,  all  devotion ;  watching 
for  me,  —  waiting  for  me.  Then  we  meet  in  the 
wood.  He  has  nothing  to  say;  but  just  observe 
the  close  suggestion  of  those  three  quotations.  Do 
you  know  the  fourth  line  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  murmured  Kitty,  growing  even  more 
pale  than  before. 

Still  Agatha  could  not  deny  herself  the  pleasure 
of  repeating,  — 

"  In  the  desert  a  fountain  is  springing, 
In  the  wide  waste  there  still  is  a  tree, 
And  a  bird  in  the  solitude  singing, 
Which  speaks  to  my  spirit  of  thee." 

"He  meant  nothing,"  she  went  on.     "He  was 


A  BIRD  IN  THE  SOLITUDE  SINGING.     265 

1  simply  playing  out  his  part  to  the  close.  He  knew 
that  I  would  not  absolutely  believe  that  he  was 
ithinking  only  of  me  ;  he  did  not  wish  me  absolutely 
to  believe  it,  only  to  believe  it  up  to  a  certain  point. 
,It  was  just  a  little  light  comedy  episode,  and  now 
it  is  over." 

"  He  was  making  love  to  you,"  Kitty  repeated 
;mechanically. 

"Is  a  man  never  to  make  love  ?     Is  a  woman 
never  to  have  love  made  to  her  ?  " 

"I    thought  — I  thought,"    Kitty  burst   forth, 
"  you  did  not  care  for  such  things." 

"  Care  for  sucrti  things  !  What  am  I  but  a  wo- 
iinan?  Not  an  intellect,  not  a  soul,  not  a  mere 
'body,  but  a  woman  with  a  heart,  senses,  nerves, 
intellect,  soul,  and  a  life  she  has  got  somehow  to 
.spend.  I  'm  the  half  of  a  complete  being,  and 
cannot  help  missing  the  other  half.  I  have  never 
seen  it  even  in  my  dreams  ;  but  Glen  has  always 
come  nearer  to  my  ideal  than  any  other  man. 
fie  knows  it ;  there  is  nothing  he  does  not  know 
ivhere  women  are  concerned.  He  was  interested 
|in  seeing  if  he  could  make  me  in  love  with  him  a 
ittle.  It  was  only  that  I  wished  to  be  touched  and 
pleased.  If  he  were  to  go  down  on  his  knees  and 
isk  me  to  marry  him,  I  would  not  do  it,  for  he 
loes  not  love  me.  Indeed,  I  think  in  his  secret 
leart  he  even  laughs  at  me.  There  is  only  one 
voman  whom  he  loves  or  has  ever  loved.  After 
oving  her,  he  never  could  love  anybody  else." 
i  Agatha  stopped  in  her  rush  of  self-revelation 
Aid  gave  a  significant  little  laugh. 


CHAPTER  XX. 
TIME'S  REVENGES. 

KITTY  had  at  first  experienced  the  sweetesl 
exultation  ;  she  had  had  no  doubt  as  to  whom  Gler 
had  been  thinking  of  in  the  wood  on  that  day  when 
they  were  to  separate.  But  she  had  been  bewildered 
by  Agatha's  own  confidences.  The  torment  of  the 
situation  put  her  in  a  fever.  She  was  first  hot. 
then  she  shivered.  She  seemed  to  have  no  strength. 
Something  had  stunned  her  heart. 

But  she  made  an  effort  to  say,  — 

u  Whom  do  you  mean  ?  "  She  was  swimming  in 
uncertainty. 

"  Why,  have  you  never  heard  who  was  the  hero 
ine  of  Glen  liennie's  '  Love  Unfulfilled  '  ?  "  Agatha 
demanded. 

"No." 

"  Can  it  be  possible  ?  Why,  all  the  world 
knows." 

"  I  do  not  know." 

Kitty's  face  showed  her  effort  to  think  acutely. 
But  it  was  of  no  use.  Her  brain  whirled. 

"  There  can  surely  be  no  harm  in  telling  you. 
But  try  to  guess." 

Kitty  shook  her  head. 


TIME'S  REVENGES.  267 

"  Is  it  any  one  I  know  ?  " 

"  Somebody  you  know  most  intimately,  —  some 
body  you  have  seen  morning,  noon,  and  night  all 
your  life." 

Kitty  tried  her  wits  at  the  riddle. 

"  Do  you  mean  me  ?  "  she  faltered. 

"  You,  —  you   infant !     I   mean   your  beautiful 
namma." 
I    "Mamma!" 

i  "  Whom  else  ?  "  As  Agatha  spoke,  she  sud- 
lenly  caught  Kitty's  hands  in  one  of  hers  and 
Hfesped  her  with  her  arm. 

i  "  Why,  what  is  the  matter  ? "  she  demanded. 
:'  Are  you  fainting  ?  " 

i  As  the  two  girls  sat  side  by  side  on  the  trunk  of 
i  fallen  tree,  Kitty,  turning  perfectly  white,  had  all 

I  once  swayed  and  had  leaned  against  Agatha's 
houlder  for    support.      In    another    moment  the 
weakness  had  passed.    Her  lips  regained  a  trifle  of 
olor.     Agatha  deeply  regretted  her  blunder  ;  but 
/ho  would  have    supposed   the  child  could  have 
•een  either  so  ignorant  or  so  susceptible  ? 

"  I  ought  not  to  have  told  you,"  she  said,  "  yet 

II  the    world    knows   it.     And   I  remember  you 
ourself  telling  me  how  Glen  heard  your  mother's 
tep  on  the  stairs,  —  how  he  talked  to  her,  listened 
)  her  "  - 

Again  Kitty  had  to  struggle  for  self-command. 

"  I  suppose,"  Gatty  went  on,  "  that  it  makes  you 
salous  that  any  one  has  dared  to  make  love  to  your 
lother.  But  you  may  as  well  understand,  once 


268  THE  EEVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

for  all,  that  Glen  is  only  one  of  many.  Glen  sim 
ply  paid  the  marchesa  the  highest  compliment  ir 
his  power  to  bestow.  She  was  faithful  to  yom 
father." 

They  looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment,  tremu 
lously,  in  silence. 

Kitty  drew  a  long  breath  finally,  and  said,  "  ] 
thank  you  for  telling  me.  It  took  me  by  surprise 
We  will  not  talk  of  it  any  more,  please." 

"  No,  we  will  not  talk  about  it ;  nevertheless,  yoi 
ought  to  glory  in  it.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  you] 
beautiful  Quaker  ancestress,  Elspeth  Waldstein' 
When  you  go  home,  look  at  the  little  faded  sof{ 
which  stands  in  your  upper  hall.  That  was  Els 
peth's.  It  used  to  have  a  place  in  the  drawing 
room.  Once  while  she  was  sitting  there,  an  Englisl 
officer  asked  her  to  marry  him.  She  declinec 
politely,  when  he  told  her  she  seemed  not  to  realiz< 
what  an  honor  she  was  refusing.  She  drew  hersel 
up,  and  said,  '  Friend,  I  have  refused  fifty  offer, 
from  this  very  sofa.'  Her  blood  runs  in  your  veins 
I  have  none  of  it.  No  man  ever  offered  himself  fa 
me,  and  I  dare  say  no  man  ever  will.  There  i 
just  that  subtle  difference  in  women.  I  do  noi 
desire  fifty  offers,  not  even  one,  —  but  I  have  som< 
curiosity  concerning  the  women  men  do  make  fool; 
of  themselves  about." 

Kitty  proposed,  in  an  indifferent  manner,  thai 
they  should  go  back,  as  if  the  question  of  love  anc 
marriage  in  no  wise  concerned  or  interested  her 
All  through  this  interview  she  had  had  the  sensatior 


TIME'S  REVENGES.  269 

of  a  man  who  finds  himself  in  a  marsh,  feels  himself 
sinking  deeper  and  deeper  at  every  step,  yet  has  to 
go  on  in  order  finally  to  reach  some  sure  footing. 
She  hardly  tried  to  listen  to  Agatha's  flow  of  words. 

"You  are  too  sensitive,  too  emotional,  too  in 
tense.  I  suppose  it  is  your  Italian  blood.  It 
cannot  be  your  training ;  the  marchesa  is  always 
so  unalterably  serene.  It  is  not  safe  to  feel  so 
much,  Kitty.  It  is  a  bad  trick,  this  of  idealizing 
everybody  one  cares  for,  —  putting  them  on  a 
pedestal,  then,  when  you  get  tired  of  adoring  them, 
pulling  them  down." 

The  moment  they  reached  the  point  in  the  woods 
where  their  paths  diverged,  Kitty  said  good-by. 

"You  are  not  angry  with  me,  dear?"  said 
Agatha. 

"Angry?  Oh  no.  I  am  glad  you  told  me." 
I  Agatha  shrugged  her  shoulders  over  Kitty's 
'ncomprehensibility,  and  set  off  towards  home. 
Kitty,  free  to  follow  her  own  instincts,  would  have 
lown,  but  she  seemed  to  have  no  strength.  Her 
mees  at  times  bent  beneath  her,  and  more  than 
mce  she  took  hold  of  a  shrub  or  tree  that  was  in 
ler  path,  and  supported  herself  until  she  had  re- 
fathered  the  force  to  go  on.  When  she  reached 
:he  house  she  went  straight  to  her  mother,  who 
.vas  in  her  room,  standing  before  her  mirror,  put 
ting  the  last  touches  to  her  toilette  for  dinner. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question,  mamma,"  Kitty 
said.  By  this  time  the  feeling  that  suspense  was 
-o  be  ended  had  nerved  her.  There  was  something 


270  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

in  her  tone  which  made  Constance  turn  and  lool 
at  her  with  curiosity. 

"  What  is  it,  dear  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Was  Glen  ever  in  love  with  you  ?  Did  he  asl 
you  to  marry  him  ?  Did  he  write  a  Look  abou 
you  ?  "  The  three  questions  followed  one  another 
each  clear,  concise,  and  in  direct  sequence. 

"Who  has  told  you  this  foolish  thing?"  de 
manded  Constance,  deeply  pained  and  indignant. 

"  You  ought  to  have  told  me,  mamma,"  saici 
Kitty.  "  If  it  is  true  that  he  was  in  love  with  you 
—  that  he  asked  you  to  marry  him,  —  I  can  never 
never  forgive  you  for  not  telling  me." 

She  was  standing  at  the  door,  —  she  tried  tc 
cross  the  room  to  reach  her  own  chamber,  1ml 
swerved  a  little,  then  sank  down  on  her  knees  be 
side  a  chair  and  hid  her  face  in  the  cushions. 

Constance  stood  for  a  moment  as  if  she  was 
trying  to  take  in  the  meaning  of  Kitty's  words. 
Then  she  darted  towards  her,  lifted  the  bent  head, 
and,  sitting  down,  drew  it  upon  her  lap. 

"  Kitty,"  she  whispered,  "  Kitty,"  but  no  an-<: 
swer  came. 

"  Kitty,  look  up  and  kiss  me,"  she  implored. 
"  What  is  this  ?  Why  are  you  angry  with  me  ?  " 

"  You  know  why  I  am  angry  with  you." 

"  Because  Glen  when  he  was  a  mere  foolish  boy 
asked  me  to  marry  him,  —  fancied  he  was  in  love 
with  me,  —  wrote  ridiculous  verses  about  me  ?  " 

"  You  might  have  spared  me  the  —  the  ignominy 
of  —  of  —  of  letting  me  go  on  believing  —  believ 
ing  —  when  all  the  time  he  loved  you." 


TIME'S  REVENGES.  271 

"  I  have  never  in  my  life  told  any  one  that  any 
man  has  asked  me  to  be  his  wife.  If  such  things 
have  been  told,  other  people  have  told  them.  I 
cannot  understand  how  any  woman  ever  speaks  of 
such  matters.  If  she  accepts  a  man's  offer,  all  the 
world  knows  ;  if  she  rejects,  nobody  need  know." 

"  I  needed  to  know  it." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  —  because  it  shows  me  that  Glen  never 
loved  me." 

Constance  understood  on  the  instant  that  the 
girl's  delicacy  had  taken  a  mortal  hurt. 

"  I  will  tell  you  anything  about  my  life,  Kitty. 
There  is  nothing  I  will  keep  back.  Perhaps  I 
might  have  told  you  about  Glen's  early  feeling  if 
I  had  had  any  preparation  for  —  for  —  what  has 
happened.  As  it  was  —  under  the  circumstances 
—  you  could  hardly  have  expected  me  to  bring  up 
such  a  "  —  Constance  broke  off  without  trying 
to  finish  her  sentence. 

"You  ought  to  have  been  frank  with  me,"  said 
Kitty,  persisting.  "  You  have  treated  me  as  a 
foolish  child."  She  paused  a  moment,  then  lifted 
her  head  from  her  mother's  knees  and  looked  at 
her.  "  Tell  me  now,  everything,"  she  demanded. 

"  Everything  ?  "  Constance  exclaimed.  "  Do 
you  realize  that  Glen  and  I  belong  to  a  different 
generation  from  you  ?  I  was  engaged  to  Philip 
when  I  was  nineteen.  Glen  was  seventeen,  —  the 
merest  boy.  Well,  when  he  heard  that  I  was 
to  be  married  the  next  week,  he  came  to  me ;  he^ 


272  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

made  a  scene,  —  said  his  heart  was  broken,  —  that 
I  had  broken  it.  That  was  three  years  and  more 
before  you  were  born." 

Kitty,  looking  at  her  mother,  listened  intently. 

"  That  is  not  all  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,  that  was  the  very  foolish  and  presumptu 
ous  beginning.  It  was  nine  years  later  when  you 
were  six  years  old  that  I  took  you  to  the  seashore, 
to  the  place  where  Glen  was  consul.  It  was  to 
me  almost  the  same  as  if  he  were  my  brother. 
He  belonged  to  my  family,  —  I  was  a  widow,  —  I 
had  a  child.  I  did  not  go  into  society.  It  had 
not  occurred  to  me  that  there  was  any  danger  of 
his  renewing  his  boyish  feeling,  but  he  did." 

"  Why  did  you  not  marry  him  ?  " 

"Because  I  did  not  love  him.  Because  I  had 
you,  —  I  had  all  I  needed  in  my  life." 

"  But  cousin  Glen  had  nobody." 

"  He  had  himself  ;  he  had  his  career  ;  he  had  his 
life  to  make  the  most  of." 

"  You  let  him  go  on  loving  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  taken  Glen  very  seriously.  When 
a  man  is  seriously  in  love  he  is  not  very  managea 
ble.  Glen  was  manageable.  If  I  would  not  marry 
him  he  was  almost  equally  happy  and  comfortable 
as  my  friend  ;  and  I  —  I  have  always  enjoyed 
talking  with  Glen.  And  just  at  that  time  it  was  as 
if  I  were  pausing  to  take  breath.  My  life  had  been 
so  strange  to  me.  I  seemed  to  need  to  think  about 
it  hour  after  hour,  —  try  to  get  used  to  it.  Some 
times  that  summer,  as  I  sat  on  the  rocks  looking  off 


TIME'S  REVENGES.  273 

at  the  Mediterranean,  I  would  say  to  myself,  '  Is  it 
really  I  —  Constance  Amory  ?  '  Just  to  watch  you 
as  you  played,  to  have  Glen  come  and  sit  down 
beside  me  and  talk  over  our  old  life  here,  quieted 
me,  balanced  me.  You  recall  a  good  deal  about  it 
yourself,  dear.  Lucia  was  your  bonne.  You  had 
;i  not  been  quite  strong,  and  the  doctor  had  told  me 
to  let  you  paddle  about  in  the  water  in  your  bare 
feet  as  fishermen's  children  do.  You  and  Glen 
used  to  run  races  along  the  sands.  I  was  making 
'  plans,  trying  to  settle  all  the  details  of  my  future 
i  life.  I  had  decided  to  leave  Rome  and  all  your 
father's  relatives  and  live  by  myself  with  you. 
Seeing  Glen  made-  me  feel  once  more  as  if  I  had  a 
life  of  my  own  to  lead  ;  I  lifted  up  my  head  and 
said  'Kitty  and  I  against  the  world.'  Think  how 
happy  we  were  all  those  years  in  the  villa  at 
Fiesole." 

"  Glen  was  not  happy,"  said  Kitty.     "  I  think, 
mamma,  you  have  no  heart,  —  no  heart  at  all." 

"Oh,  Kitty!" 

"  It  makes  me  almost  hate  you.  He  loved  you, 
—  he  needed  you.  You  had  no  thought  of  him 
then  except  as  he  was  somebody  you  had  known, 
different  from  papa's  relatives  who  cramped  and 
fettered  you.  You  went  off  with  me  and  left  him. 
You  had  rest  and  relief,  —  he  had  none.  That 
was  what  made  me  love  him,  —  that  he  was  sad,  — 
that  he  needed  comfort.  I  thought  —  I  thought 
it  was  /  who  could  give  it.  All  the  time  it  was 
you  he  loved  but  who  would  not  love  him,  —  you 


274  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

would  not  even  let  me  help  him.  You  put  a  doubt 
between  us.  Yet  at  the  same  time  you  let  me 
deceive  myself." 

Constance  gazed  at  Kitty  in  astonishment.  The 
girl  had  not  risen  from  the  floor,  but  had  withdrawn 
from  her  mother's  support,  and,  kneeling  at  a  little 
distance,  poured  forth  this  indictment  not  passion 
ately  nor  impetuously,  but  as  if  she  had  weighed 
each  word,  and  now  gave  voice  to  a  long-suppressed 
condemnation. 

"  If  you  had  told  me  all  this  story  long  ago," 
she  went  on  relentlessly,  "  I  should  have  under 
stood  ;  I  could  have  judged." 

"  I  am  sorry  now  that  I  did  not  tell  you,  Kitty," 
Constance  said  calmly. 

"  My  whole  life  is  spoiled,  and  you  are  sorry !  " 

"  I  am  sorry,  I  say,  that  I  did  not  tell  you,  but 
that  your  life  is  spoiled  I  cannot  and  will  not  be 
lieve." 

Kitty  had  risen  to  her  feet. 

"  I  suppose  you  must  go  down  to  dinner,"  she 
said  quietly.  "  I  shall  stay  in  my  own  room." 

"  Yes,  dear,  stay  if  you  prefer  it.  I  will  send 
your  dinner  to  you."  Constance  went  up  to  her 
as  she  spoke,  expecting  an  embrace.  Kitty  with 
drew. 

"  Not  kiss  me,  Kitty  ?     Not  kiss  me  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  love  you,  mamma.  I  feel  as  if  I 
never  could  love  you  again." 

Downstairs    the    brother   and    sister    dined   al- 


TIME'S  EEVENGES.  275 

most  in  silence     Afterwards  they  walked  up  and 
down  the  terrace  path  together,  and  Constance  told 
Richard  Amory  the  whole  story. 
"  What  shall  I  do  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  If  I  were  thee,"  he  answered,  "  I  would  wait 
for  the  prompting  of  the  spirit." 

"  Do  you  consider  that  I  have  acted  wrongly  to 
wards  Kitty  in  any  way  ?  " 

"  Surely  not  wrongly.  But  think  it  over  quietly, 
Constance,  and  thee  will  see  everything  more 
clearly." 

"  I  am  thinking  it  over.  I  have  been  thinking 
all  the  time  of  late." 

"  Is  thee  thinking  of  conquering  or  of  yielding  ? 
Is  thee  thinking  of  what  is  best  for  thee  or  for 
Kitty  ?  " 

"  I  believe  I  can  truly  say  that  I  am  thinking  of 
•  what  is  best  for  Kitty." 

"  She  has  been  very  sweet  of  late.  Sometimes 
i  her  face  has  touched  me,  and  her  voice  has  had  a 
!  peculiar  softness." 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  proud  of  her."     Constance, 

j  as  she  spoke,  gave  a  little  sigh.     "  I  saw  that  she 

!  was  trying  to  show  me  she  could  be  brave,  —  that 

1  she  respected  my  wishes  and  accepted  them.     But 

this  is  different.     She  no  longer  trusts  me ;    she 

imputes  heaven  only  knows  what  motives  to  me. 

'  She  says  —  she  says  "          Constance  could  hardly 

'•  utter  the  words  —  "  that  she  does  not  love  me,  — 

that  she  almost  hates  me.     My  Kitty,  —  my  own 

little  Kitty,  would  not  kiss  me." 


276  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

Her  voice  was  full  of  anguish.  Richard  Amory, 
too,  was  deeply  touched,  feeling  both  for  Constance 
and  with  Kitty. 

"  Pity  her  because  she  is  so  young,  so  ignorant, 
so  miserable,"  he  said.  "  She  is  desolate." 

"  Pity  her?  "  repeated  Constance.  "  What  I  am 
longing  for  at  this  moment  is  to  hold  her  in  my 
arms.  Only  that.  It  is  she  that  leaves  me  deso 
late  ;  not  I  that  would  let  her  suffer  a  minute." 

"  Thy  Kitty  is  eighteen  years  old,"  said  Richard 
Amory. 

"  Yes." 

"  Before  she  came  thee  had  been  thinking  of  thy 
child ;  thee  has  had  her,  we  will  say,  almost  nine 
teen  years." 

"  Yes.  I  had  longed  for  a  child.  After  Philip 
died  I  thought,  '  Oh,  if  I  had  but  a  child  to  come 
and  comfort  me  as  some  widows  have  had.'  Kitty 
was  the  fulfillment  of  a  long  hope." 

"Did  thee  nurse  her?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  felt  I  could  not  resign  her  to  one  of 
those  tyrannical  Roman  nurses.  Francesco  con 
sented,  but  his  family  regarded  my  fulfillment  of  a 
mother's  duties  as  something  unheard  of,  bizarre, 
American." 

"  The  little  soft  head  on  thy  breast  made  thee 
happy." 

"  Happy !     I  often  think  of  it  now." 

"  And  her  cheek  on  thine,  her  smiles  and  laughter, 
her  grief  that  thee  only  could  still,  her  little  coos 
and  babbling  cries  that  thee  only  could  interpret, 


TIME'S  REVENGES.  277 

—  they  made  a  part  of  thy  life  ;  they  are  a  part  of 
thy  memory  still." 

"  Ah  yes.  Thee  knows,  brother,  —  I  can  see  that 
thee  knows  how  a  mother  loves  her  child !  " 

"  Thee  taught  her  to  walk.  In  all  thy  life  thee 
was  never  more  pleased  than  when  her  little  feet 
learned  how  to  patter  along  the  floor.  And  no 
joy,  no  triumph,  was  complete  unless  thee  held  her 
close,  covered  her  with  kisses,  and  felt  the  ardent 
thrill  of  the  physical  life  of  the  little  creature. 
But  although  this  is  so  large  a  part  of  thy  ex 
perience,  Constance,  she  cannot  recall  it.  She  was 
gathering  her  strength,  but  her  mental  life  had 
not  then  begun." 

"  You  mean  that  I  inevitably  love  her  more  than 
she  loves  me  !  "  Constance  exclaimed.  "  Of  course, 
in  a  way  ;  but  she  has  always  been  devoted  to  me 

—  until  now." 

"  She  has  been  a  loving,  dutiful  child.  My  two 
boys  were  good,  loving,  candid  little  boys.  When 
I  look  at  Darrow  I  have  often  a  little  laugh  to  my 
self.  At  the  time  he  was  three  years  old  his  mother 

:  and  I  were  entertaining  some  of  the  Friends  who 
had  come  to  the  Yearly  Meeting.  We  were  having 

;  a  sober  discourse,  which  Darrow  interrupted  by 
putting  questions  and  making  a  general  disturbance. 
So  I  said  to  him  quite  sternly,  '  Go  and  sit  thee 
down  quietly,  Darrow.  Little  boys  should  be  seen 
and  not  heard.'  The  conversation  went  on  until 
some  refreshments  were  offered,  when  the  question 
went  up  between  his  mother  and  me,  'Where  is 


278  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

Darrow  ?  '  We  called  '  Darrow,  Darrow  ! '  A  lit 
tle  voice  answered  from  under  the  table,  and  what 
does  thee  think,  Constance  ?  He  came  forth  stark 
naked.  He  had  amused  himself  by  unbuttoning 
all  his  clothes  and  putting  them  in  a  pile.  When 
Darrow  nowadays  puts  on  a  certain  air,  takes  a 
certain  tone,  offers  advice,  blames  me  for  this  or 
that  omission  or  commission,  I  can  think  of  the 
chubby  little  figure  emerging  from  under  the  table. 
That  was  my  little  son  ;  this  present  Darrow  is  a 
fine,  stately  man,  but  he  is  not  the  child  whom  I 
held  precious." 

"  Let  us  sit  down,"  said  Constance.  "  Thee 
gives  me  something  to  think  of." 

They  sat  down  on  the  garden  seat. 

"Darrow  is  my  second  son,"  Richard  Amory 
pursued.  "  William  came  first.  He  was  born  in 
November.  One  warm  day  in  April,  when  the 
grass  was  beginning  to  spring  fresh  and  luxuriant, 
I  took  my  firstborn  in  my  arms,  brought  him  forth 
from  the  farm  cottage  where  thee  knows  we  lived 
until  our  father  died,  across  the  place,  took  off  his 
little  socks,  and  set  him  down  on  his  bare  feet  in  the 
middle  of  the  lawn  by  the  tulip-trees.  '  The  lines 
are  fallen  unto  thee  in  pleasant  places,'  I  said  to 
the  crowing  baby.  '  By  God's  help  this  shall  be 
thy  goodly  heritage.'  When  I  die,  and  he  sells 
this  estate,  as  he  longs  to  do,  the  opening  of  the 
street  will  come  just  where  my  firstborn  son, 
Richard  William  Amory,  stood,  supported  by  his 
father's  arms." 


TIME'S  REVENGES.  279 

"  Did  tliee  ever  tell  him  the  story,"  inquired 
Constance. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  have  told  him,"  said  Richard  Amory. 
"  He  says  I  am  a  sentimentalist." 

They  sat  silent  side  by  side  for  a  time,  then  he 
spoke  again. 

"  The  instinct  is  in  thee  and  in  me ;  it  is  in  all 
men  more  or  less,  but  a  little  more  in  families 
which  have  gone  on  for  years  preserving  what  their 
fathers  bequeathed  them.  The  longing  for  some 
thing  permanent,  fixed,  becomes  at  last  a  need. 
Thee  looks  up  at  the  hurrying  clouds,  at  the  serene 
stars  ;  thee  is  so  slight,  so  little  powerful ;  the  uni 
verse  is  so  great ;  this  little  world  even  so  vast  in  pro 
portion  to  the  narrow  circle  in  which  thee  lives  and 
moves ;  the  time  thee  hast  to  live  is  so  brief,  the 
past  is  so  wonderful,  the  future  so  mysterious,  yet 
thee  hast  had  such  sweet  hopes,  such  great  thoughts  ; 
it  would  be  tragically  short  and  useless  unless  thee 
felt  that  thy  share  in  springtime  and  harvest,  sun 
shine  and  storm,  sunset,  sunrise,  moonlight  and 
starlight,  were  to  pass  on  to  Kitty.  She  will  have 
it,  she  will  enjoy  it ;  but  what  she  will  most  think 
of  will  be  her  own  children,  —  it  will  be  to  her  as 
to  me  and  to  thee.  Is  it  thy  father,  thy  mother 
thee  thinks  of  ?  " 

Constance  uttered  a  stifled  cry. 

"  I  had  no  mother.  Oh,  I  have  thought  to  my 
self  I  would  be  to  Kitty,  not  only  all  I  could  be  of 
myself,  but  all  that  I  missed.  And  now  " 

"  If  I  were  thee,"  said  Richard  Amory,  "  I  would 
wait  for  the  prompting  of  the  spirit." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE   ESTRANGEMENT. 

FOR  some  days  Kitty  continued  absolutely  es 
tranged  from  her  mother.  Constance  waited,  as 
her  brother  had  advised,  but  not  so  much  for  the 
prompting  of  the  spirit  as  because  she  was  like  a 
mere  straw  on  the  stream.  She  felt  singularly 
helpless  against  the  fierce  current  of  Kitty's  re 
sentment  and  wounded  pride.  The  young  girl 
did  not  leave  her  room  for  some  days,  and  was 
treated  as  if  she  were  ill.  She  would  rise  from 
her  bed  at  noon,  and  lie  listlessly  on  the  lounge 
gazing  out  of  the  window  at  the  tops  of  the  trees 
against  the  sky.  She  was  very  pale,  and  Constance 
could  see,  when  she  went  to  her  every  two  hours, 
that  she  wept  much  in  the  intervals  between  her 
visits.  Constance  did  not  sit  down.  It  was  evi 
dent  that  her  presence  made  Kitty  very  restless  ; 
and  after  twenty-four  hours  had  gone  by,  the  young 
girl  looked  so  fragile  it  seemed  a  serious  matter 
to  run  any  risk  of  exciting  her. 

Richard  Amory  alternated  with  his  sister,  and 
carried  Kitty  grapes  from  his  vines  and  some 
splendid  peaches  from  a  tree  which  Kitty  had  seen 
in  blossom  just  after  she  came  in  the  spring.  He 


THE  ESTRANGEMENT.  281 

would  sit  beside  her,  and  pare  the  beautiful  luscious 
fruit,  and  feed  her  with  slices  from  the  end  of  his 
fruit-knife  as  if  she  were  a  child.  Thus  there  was 
;a  sound  of  cheery  laughter  during  his  visits. 

Haliburton  discovered  that  something  was  wrong, 
and  he  came  to  the  house  frequently.  One  even 
ing  as  he  sat  with  Richard  Amory  and  his  sister, 
they  were  talking  about  the  different  religions  of 
;the  world,  and  how  each  answers  some  crying  need 
in  the  heart  of  man.  While  the  talk  went  on, 
Richard  Amory  thought  he  heard  Kitty's  voice, 
and  he  went  upstairs  to  her. 

Constance  turned  to  Haliburton  and  said  with  a 
soft  vehemence  which  startled  him,  — 

"  Richard  believes  that  if  we  restrain  our  im 
pulses,  fix  our  thoughts  on  the  end,  and  wait  for  it, 
we  are  safe  from  anxieties  and  perturbations  of  soul ; 
out  what  I  have  felt  the  past  few  weeks,  and  espe 
cially  the  past  few  days,  is  that  one  needs  to  be 
very  strong,  very  self-sustained,  to  need  no  help 
vhile  one  listens  for  the  Divine  Voice.  I  am  not 
rood  company  for  myself  nowadays.  I  have  felt 
nore  than  once  as  if  I  should  like  to  kneel  down 
;>y  the  side  of  a  confessional  and  pour  all  my 
roubles  into  some  one's  ear." 

Haliburton  reached  out  his   hand  and  touched 
aers. 
:   "  Here  am  I."  he  said. 

"  I  know  you  so  well ;  you  also  know  all  about  me. 
t  is  partly  a  judge  I  need,  or  rather  to  feel  that  I 
m  taking  counsel  not  from  flesh  and  blood." 


282  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

"  Is  not  a  priest  flesh  and  blood  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  strong :  I  am  very  weak ;  I  am  led 
hither  and  thither  by  contrary  impulses  ;  I  need 
somebody  —  something  to  sustain  me." 

Haliburton  could  hardly  have  believed  it  was 
Constance  speaking.  Tears  had  come  to  her  eyes ; 
there  was  a  half  wildness  in  her  tone. 

"  You  need  a  friend,"  he  said.  "  Am  not  I  a 
friend  ?  You  could  not  easily  find  a  friend  more 
faithful  than  I  long  to  be." 

"  I  could  not  tell  everything  to  you  as  I  could 
tell  it  to  a  priest,  whose  vocation  it  is  to  listen  and 
advise." 

"  You  shall  find  me  as  safe  as  a  priest.  A  priest 
is  certain  to  have  listened  with  more  or  less  indif 
ference  to  plenty  of  confessions  from  women  who 
have  only  too  much  to  confess.  He  could  not 
know  you  as  I  know  you  ;  he  could  not  believe  in 
you  as  I  believe  in  you  ;  I  long  to  say  he  could  not 
help  you  as  I  could  help  you.  For  no  man  on 
earth  —  I  dare  say  it,  I  will  say  it,  Constance  — 
has  ever  loved  you  as  I  love  you." 

She  shrank  from  him  slightly ;  the  blood  had 
rushed  to  her  face.  He  went  on,  "  I  only  say  this  to 
show  you  where  I  stand.  Unless  you  love  me,  and 
are  ready  to  accept  me  as  your  husband,  my  wish  to 
have  you  for  my  wife  is  nothing.  I  only  want  you 
to  know  that  all  my  service  is  yours  unalterably. 
I  wish  it  could  be  the  easiest  and  pleasantest  thing 
in  the  world  for  you  to  turn  to  me  and  tell  me 
everything." 


THE  ESTRANGEMENT.  283 

"  You  cannot  help  me.  The  priest  could  not  help 
me.  Only  Kitty  can  help  me,  and  she  will  not." 

"  Is  the  trouble  still  about  Glen  ? "  Haliburton 
asked. 

"  It  has  taken  a  new  shape,"  said  Constance. 
She  had  not  until  this  moment  looked  fully  into 
his  face  ;  but  now  as  he  spoke,  encountering  his 
straight  glance,  she  gave  a  sort  of  sigh,  and  said, 
"  It  is  not  hard  to  tell  you  everything,  you  are  so 
kind."  She  leaned  forward  and  laid  her  hand 
jon  his  arm.  "  Kitty  is  angry  with  me,"  she  said 
faintly,  her  whole  face  quivering  with  emotion. 
;"  It  is  clear  that  she  has  grown  absolutely  to  dislike 
me.  When  I  go  into  her  room,  she  turns  so  pale 
I  have  more  than  once  feared  that  she  was  on  the 
verge  of  fainting." 

"  Is  it  because  you  have  separated  her  from 
Glen?" 

!  "  That  she  accepted,  or  seemed  to  accept.  No ; 
somebody  has  told  her  that  Glen  once  cared  for 
ne." 

"  She  is  jealous  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  would  not  —  I  could  not  think  she 
vould  be  jealous.  She  feels  that  I  ought  to  have 
Confided  in  her;  that  I  ought  to  have  prepared 
ler  for  the  situation ;  told  her  that  between  her 
.nd  Glen  existed  this  obstacle  of  an  old,  foolish 
Affection.  She  thinks  I  have  treated  her  as  a  child. 
>he  also  accuses  me  of  heartlessness,  that  I  did  not 
larry  poor  Glen  twelve  years  ago.  The  want  of 
)gic,  the  absurdity  of  it  all,  the  odd  jumble  of 


284  THE  EEVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

past  and  present,  the  passing  sentence  with  abso 
lute  condemnation  on  what  happened  long  before 
she  had  any  knowledge  of  things,  would  make  one 
smile,  except  —  except  that  they  go  to  show  that 
in  her  mind  there  is  an  intense  resentment  against 
me.  In  Kitty's  mind !  Do  you  understand,  Mr. 
Haliburton,  my  Kitty  —  my  own  little  Kitty  — 
will  not  kiss  me  ;  if  I  reach  out  my  hand,  she  draws 
hers  away  shudderingly." 

As  she  spoke  her  clasp  tightened  011  Haliburton's 
arm.  It  was  easy  for  him  to  see  that  she  wa| 
suffering  acutely.  He  did  not  speak  for  the  mo* 
ment,  and  she  went  on  :  — 

"  She  says  I  have  spoiled  her  life." 

Haliburton  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"  That  is  youth,"  he  said. 

"•  Yes,  it  is  youth ;  but  what  I  intended  was  that 
Kitty  should  be  saved  that  sort  of  heartbreak.  II 
really  did  seem  that  by  keeping  her  close  to  m& 
sharing  everything  I  did  and  said  and  thoughl) 
with  her,  she  would  take  life  logically  and  ration- 
ally." 

"But  did  you  tell  her  everything?"  demanded 
Haliburton. 

"  Everything." 

"  You  did  not  tell  her  that  Glen  had  been  in  love 
with  you  all  these  years,  —  not  that." 

"  If  I  did  not  tell  her  that,  it  was  because  it 
was  too  "  She  finished  her  sentence  with  a  little 

gesture  suggestive  almost  of  disdain. 

"  It  was  too  personal,  too  intimate,"  said  Ilali- 


THE  ESTRANGEMENT.  285 

burton.  "  It  was  your  life,  or  a  part  of  it,  —  and  it 
fis  not  so  easy  a  matter  to  share  the  deep  thoughts 
[of  our  lives  with  any  one." 

"It  is  largely  a  matter  of  taste,"  said  Constance. 
r  I  had  not  felt  that  she  was  sufficiently  grown  up 
jto  be  told  of  love  affairs.  When  should  I  have 
jtold  her  ?  When  we  left  Fiesole,  —  on  the  voyage, 
| —  after  we  arrived  here  ?  She  was  the  merest 
fchild." 

"  But  eager,  inquisitive,  ardent,  bent  on  acquisi 
tion,  —  she  must  climb  to  the  top  of  trees  ;  she 
jnust  study  out  everything  that  is  new,  whether  a 
•ibird,  or  a  flower,  or  an  unexpected  phrase.  You 
prould  not  have  expected  her  to  halt  on  the 
threshold  and  not  explore  what  is  actually  the  one 
reality  of  human  life,  —  the  falling  in  love  with 
ftohat  touches  the  heart  ?  " 

"  She  did  not  know  what  sentiment  was,  except 
Ms  she  felt  it  for  me,  —  for  her  uncle,  —  for  every 
thing  that  was  beautiful.  I  remember  the  day  she 
paine  home  after  a  talk  with  Gatty  Darrow,  when 
bhe  two  had  discussed  the  necessity  of  having  some 
great  distinguishing  passion." 

"  It  is  only  the  first  step  that  counts.  She  had 
acquired  the  phrase." 

"  Do  you  remember  the  night  we  dined  with  you  ? 
'  We  all  pampered  her  appetite  and  let  her  eat  half 
p,  dozen  dishes  of  ice  cream  and  strawberries.  She 
pad  looked  so  pretty,  as  she  moved  about  at  the 
::able,  so  rather  womanly,  that  it  was  reassuring  to 
jsee  what  a  greedy  child  she  actually  was." 


286  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

"  I  remember  that  night,"  said  Haliburton ;  but 
what  he  remembered  chiefly  was  that  on  that  me 
morable  night  he  had  felt  it  his  duty  —  a  point 
of  conscience  and  of  honor  —  to  urge  Constance  to 
marry  Glen. 

"  But  I  think,"  Constance  went  on  dreamily, 
"  that  it  all  began  that  night.  She  and  Glen  went 
out  together  to  see  the  shower  come  up.  lie  was 
ill  for  a  week  afterwards,  and  all  that  time  she  was 
in  a  fever.  It  did  not  suggest  anything  to  me  ex 
cept  her  longing  to  do  something  for  a  friend  who 
was  ill.  Now  I  see."  She  sighed.  She  had  with 
drawn  her  hand  from  Haliburton's  arm,  and,  sit 
ting  back  in  her  chair,  leaned  against  the  cushions, 
closing  her  eyes. 

Haliburton  studied  the  pale  face.  He  knew  that 
she  was  working  out  a  long  equation  ;  her  one 
object,  her  one  thought,  being  to  have  x  equal  y  ; 
and  Haliburton  knew,  or  believed  that  he  knew, 
that  x  is  irrevocably  a-,  and  that  y  has  its  own 
potentialities,  and  no  more. 

Richard  Amory  came  tiptoeing  down  in  another 
moment.  He  said  that  Kitty  was  asleep  ;  that  he 
thought  she  was  brighter,  and  that  the  following 
day  she  would  see  everything  in  a  different  light. 

"  I  told  her, "  Richard  Amory  went  on,  "  that 
this  was  a  house  in  which  life  had  been  going  on 
for  many  generations.  Birth,  marriage,  death.  — 
birth,  marriage,  death,  —  one  had  succeeded  the 
other,  each  bringing  along  in  its  train  much  sorrow, 
much  necessity  for  endurance,  some  joy,  but  none 


THE  ESTRANGEMENT.  287 

unalloyed.  I  told  her  that  these  events  had  come 
to  pass  one  after  the  other  ;  so  long  as  human 
beings  peopled  the  earth  they  must  always  come  to 
pass.  But  I  told  her,  too,  that  never  within  my 
knowledge  had  any  one  in  suffering  done  as  she  was 
doing  now,  —  separating  herself  from  the  loving, 
longing  hearts  close  beside  her,  belonging  to  her, 
her  nearest  and  dearest,  longing  to  comfort  and  to 
soothe  her." 

Constance   put   out   her  hand  and  clasped  her 
brother's.     "  I  thank  thee,  Richard,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

HALIBURTON   FINDS   HIS    OPPORTUNITY. 

THE  days  were  so  long,  so  dull  to  Kitty.  Nothing 
happened ;  nothing  ever  could  happen  again.  Life 
had  stopped  ;  the  mainspring  of  the  mechanism  was 
broken.  Let  the  hands  on  the  dial-face  travel  round 
as  they  might ;  let  the  sun  rise  in  the  east,  climb 
to  the  meridian,  decline  to  the  west,  and  give  way 
to  let  the  moon  and  stars  shine  forth  in  his  place ; ! 
yet  everything  in  the  universe  stood  stock-still. 

It  was  not  that  Glen  had  vanished  out  of  her 
life.  It  was  not  that  the  transport  of  loving  him 
and  believing  herself  to  be  loved  by  him  was  flatly 
over  and  done  with.  It  was  not  that  the  old  rap 
ture  and  belief  in  her  mother's  feeling  could  never  I 
be  rekindled.  It  was  that  she  suddenly  saw  with 
new  eyes,  heard  with  new  ears,  realized  the  empti 
ness  of  things,  the  great,  gaping  void  between 
what  she  craved  and  the  reality  offered  in  its  place. 

Kitty's  eternity  of  despair  lasted  six  days.  It 
was  then  that  her  uncle  had  spoken  to  her  quietly, 
saying  finally,  — 

"  When  we  think  only  of  our  individual  rights 
and  forget  duty,  thee  sees,  Kitty,  life  is  full  of 
complexity." 


HALIBURTON  FINDS  HIS   OPPORTUNITY.      289 

Next  day,  Kitty  rose,  dressed,  and  resumed  her 
old  habits  in  the  house.  Morning  and  evening  she 
kissed  her  mother,  and  gave  her  cheek  to  her  uncle, 
but  there  was  none  of  the  old  clasping  of  hands, 
the  old  clinging  of  cheek  to  cheek.  She  talked, 
but  without  ardor  or  spontaneity.  She  had  grown 
thin  to  meagreness  in  the  interval,  and  was  still 
very  weak. 

Constance  used  all  her  woman's  wit  to  meet  her 
child  just  at  the  point  where  she  was  needed,  but 
her  heart  almost  failed  her.  It  seemed  sometimes 
as  if  she  and  her  child  could  never  meet  again  in 
comradeship  and  trust.  She  detected  in  all  Kitty 
said  the  ring  of  an  irony  which  was  the  result  of 
long,  hard  thought  over  her  own  problems. 

Yet  Kitty  was  struggling  to  crush  herself  into 
conformity  with  what  was  expected  of  her.  When 
her  uncle  came  in  to  breakfast  with  his  hands  full 
of  anemones  and  cosmos  flowers,  and  told  about 
the  new  chrysanthemums  which  he  had  called  the 
Constantia  and  the  Caterina,  she  tried  to  seem  in 
terested.  In  old  days,  every  fact  connected  with 
growing  things  had  been  curiously  important  to 
her.  Now,  she  had  an  angry  wish  to  say,  — 

"  That  is  what  I  should  do,  —  live  in  a  six-inch 
flower-pot,  absorb  all  the  nourishment  which  is 
given  me,  and  fulfill  my  destiny  by  taking  a  prize 
at  a  show.  But  I  am  not  a  vegetable." 

That  she  did  not  say  this  was  because  she  put 
a  curb  upon  herself.  When  her  mother  proposed 
amusements,  diversions,  she  longed  to  exclaim,  — 


290  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

"  I  am  a  child  to  be  taken  to  see  shows,  to  visit 
other  children,  and  play  games !  " 

What  she  was  always  saying  to  herself  nowadays 
was  that  her  mother  considered  her  a  child,  in 
capable  of  anything  beyond  a  child's  apprehension. 
If  Constance  addressed  a  general  observation  to 
her,  particularly  if  she  alluded  to  anything  that 
was  the  result  of  her  experience,  Kitty  said  to 
herself,  — 

"  She  is  cased  round  with  formulas  ;  she  can 
live,  breathe,  and  think  by  rote." 

If  Constance  studied  how  to  please  her  daughter, 
Kitty's  thought  was,  — 

"  She  wants  me  to  be  happy,  but  she  expects  me 
to  be  happy  in  her  way." 

Even  the  dogs  irritated  her  when  they  came 
running  towards  her,  fawning,  crouching,  and  in 
viting  her  to  run  races  as  of  old.  It  showed  her 
how  light-hearted  she  had  been  on  first  coining  to 
Waldstein.  She  had  been  then  just  such  another 
animal  as  Kaiser  or  Khan,  obeying  at  a  call,  ac 
cepting  gratefully  the  least  word  or  glance  flung 
at  him ;  stanch,  loyal,  and  devoted,  ready  to  lay 
down  his  life  in  eager  service. 

Yes,  Kitty  mused,  she  had  been  reared  to  think 
always  first  of  others ;  to  find  happiness  in 
making  others  happy.  It  had  been  her  mother's 
creed :  nothing  done  for  self  could  give  any  satis 
fying  measure  of  reward.  Happiness  lies  in  self- 
forgetfulness,  in  renunciation. 

And  what,  Kitty  argued,  had  it   all   come  to? 


JIALIBURTON  FINDS  HIS  OPPORTUNITY.     291 

'Everybody  had  accepted  what  she  gave  so  gener 
ously,  and  had  made  light  of  what  was  her  very  life 
of  life.  "  Is  it  worth  while  to  go  on  thinking  chiefly 
,of  others?"  she  now  asked  herself  after  this  ex 
perience  of  being  kissed  and  betrayed.  She  could 
not  endure  to  think  of  Glen.  One  day  when  she 
lay  in  bed,  finding  the  upper  story  deserted  for  a 
brief  space,  she  had  risen,  crept  to  the  bookcase  in 
her  mother's  room,  and  taken  out  the  little  volume, 
"  Love  Unfulfilled."  She  had  read  no  more  than 
twenty  lines ;  but  they  had  dazzled  her  as  if  by  a 
.flash  of  lightning.  They  showed  what  Glen's  love 
could  be.  They  startled  her  consciousness,  alarmed 
,her,  arrested  her  on  the  threshold  of  love,  as  it 
were.  She  not  only  could  not  cross  it,  but  she 
hated  the  idea  of  crossing  it.  Certain  fiery,  unfor 
gettable  words  in  one  of  the  sonnets  ran  in  her 
head  like  a  persistent  strain  of  music.  She  hated 
them. 

Yes,  there  was  the  sting  of  it,  —  she  was  a  child ; 
•she  had  accepted  phrases,  falling  into  her  mother's 
pretty  fictions.  It  was  her  mother  who  had  dwarfed 
ill!  effort  and  experience  in  order  to  keep  her  a 
Jhild. 

One  day,  about  the  first  of  October,  Constance 
lappened  to  come  upon  Kitty  as  she  sat  brooding 
)ver  thoughts  like  these  before  the  great  open  fire 
i  n  the  hall.  Constance's  keen  mother  feeling  had 
seen  growing  more  tender  and  more  poignant  day 
jy  day,  but  she  had  waited.  Now,  as  she  caught 
;he  look  in  Kitty's  eyes  as  she  turned, — the  instinct 


292  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

of  an  ambushed  creature  longing  for  escape,  —  she 
advanced,  sat  down  beside  Kitty  on  the  great  carved 
oak  settle,  and  said  softly,  — 

"  Kitty,  I  cannot  have  you  so  cheerless,  so  un 
happy.  I  am  going  to  send  for  Glen." 

Kitty  gave  her  one  woeful  glance,  then  burst  into 
unmeasured  weeping. 

"  That  is  what  you  wish  ?  Tell  me  that  you  wish 
it,"  said  Constance. 

"  No,  no,  no,"  cried  Kitty  fiercely.  "  I  wish  never, 
never  to  see  him  again." 

She  began  to  sob  convulsively ;  but  when  Con 
stance  encircled  her  with  her  arms  the  girl  yielded 
as  if  with  intense  relief,  and  presently  lay  clasped 
tightly  to  her  mother's  breast. 

"My  child,"  said  Constance  after  a  time,  "tell* 
me  what  I  am  to  do.  Anything  you  ask  for  you 
shall  have.  Glen  is  not  my  choice  for  you,  —  he 
never  could  be  my  choice,  —  but  I  give  up  any 
wishes  of  my  own.  You  shall  marry  him  rather 
than  go  on  in  this  desolate,  weary  way." 

Kitty  lifted  her  head  and  looked  at  her  mother 
with  a  world  of  resistance  and  revolt  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  will  not  rob  you  of  Glen,  mamma.  Glen  is 
yours,  —  yours  only." 

Again  Constance  detected  that  ring  of  irony,  — 
the  result  of  long,  persistent  anger. 

"  Glen  has  never  been  anything  but  a  cousin,  a 
brother  to  me,"  Constance  replied ;  "  he  never  will 
be  anything  else,  except  as  you  give  him  a  closer 
tie." 


IIALIBUETON  FINDS  HIS   OPPORTUNITY.      293 

"  Do  not  talk  to  me  of  Glen,"  cried  Kitty,  with 
intense  feeling.  "  He  never  cared  for  me.  I  know 
for  whom  he  cared.  I  have  read  his  book." 

Constance  looked  at  Kitty  with  suffering,  not 
only  for  herself  but  with  a  sympathy  for  Kitty's 
',  suffering. 

"  If  you  had  given  me  that  book  to  read, 
i  mamma,"  said  Kitty  ;  "  if  you  had  warned  me  !  " 

"  That  book  is  not  for  a  child,"  Constance  re- 
i plied  calmly.  "I  hardly  think  it  is  for  a  woman. 
I  have  read  little  of  it  myself.  I  never  saw  it 
i  until  this  summer,  when  I  came  upon  a  copy  of  it 
Jin  your  uncle's  library.  To  me,  it  is  incompre- 
(hensible,  besides  being  foolish.  Glen  is  probably 
more  ashamed  of  it  than  I  am.  Whatever  it  re- 
ipresents  was  over  and  done  with  long  ago.  Kitty, 
[darling,  let  all  that  pass.  They  say  that  in  heaven 
/there  is  neither  marrying  nor  giving  in  marriage. 
|  When  one  is  only  eighteen  such  a  heaven  is  attain- 
;able  on  earth.  Life  is  before  you.  It  is  beautiful 
lout  of  doors.  Let  us  take  the  dogs  and  go  after 
•chestnuts." 

There  was  just  a  suggestion  of  humor  in  Con 
stance's  look  and  manner.  A  great  sob  rose  in 
Kitty,  but  these  close  caresses  had  carried  her  back 
to  the  feeling  of  warm,  intimate  life.  Something 
that  had  been  checked  began  to  move  again.  Here 
iwas  her  mother's  face,  beautiful,  clear,  and  loving ; 
the  lips  so  tender,  the  eyes  so  soft.  Even  while 
ishe  told  herself  that  she  was  solitary,  loveless,  that 
an  irredeemable  wrong  had  been  done  her,  she  was 


294  TUE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

once  more  swayed  by  her  mother's  just  and  accu 
rate  good  sense. 

"  Oh,  mamma,"  she  cried,  again  clinging  closely, 
"  I  do  not  care  about  Glen.  I  do  not  care  about 
anything.  I  do  not  know  what  is  to  become  of  me. 
I  feel  so  dead." 

"  I  know.  It  seems  to  me  sometimes  as  if  you 
were  only  the  ghost  of  my  little  Kitty.  Oh,  to 
have  you  happy  again  !  " 

"  I  do  not  want  to  be  happy.  I  want  only  the 
feeling  that  I  am  alive,  —  that  I  have  something 
to  do." 

"  Come  out  into  the  sunshine,"  said  Constance  ; 
and  Kitty  permitted  herself  to  be  persuaded.  But 
when  they  had  crossed  the  lawn  with  the  dogs  run 
ning  gladly  before  them,  and  entered  the  woods 
where  autumn  had  come  thinning  the  foliage  but 
enriching  every  leaf  that  remained  with  some  tint 
of  beautiful  color,  Kitty  could  not  help  recalling 
every  word,  every  incident  of  her  last  walk  here 
with  Agatha.  Again  that  dreadful  feeling  came 
over  her  of  what  she  had  suffered,  —  what  she 
had  lost.  Everything  that  was  past  asserted  it 
self  ;  she  pulsed  and  palpitated  and  clung  to  her 
mother  helplessly.  But  she  fought  against  her 
weakness  resolutely,  and  presently  was  calm. 

"  Oh,  Kitty,  Kitty,"  said  Constance.  "  I  did  so 
want  to  spare  you  all  this." 

"  I  do  not  want  to  be  spared." 

"  It  is  something  to  be  young,  to  make  mistakes, 
and  yet  to  feel  that  they  are  not  irreparable  ;  still 
it  is  better  not  to  lose  time  by  making  mistakes." 


HALIEURTON  FINDS  HIS  OPPORTUNITY.     295 

"  I  want  to  make  mistakes,"  said  Kitty.  "  I 
want  to  go  on  and  learn  for  myself  by  hard  expe 
rience.  You  tried  to  save  me  from  everything. 
You  kept  me  a  mere  child,  knowing  nothing,  under 
standing  nothing." 

"  You  were  a  happy  child,  dear.  I  wanted  you 
to  go  on  being  happy." 

"  You  want  me  to  be  happy  your  way,  mamma. 
If  I  am  to  be  happy  it  must  be  my  way.  It 's  my 
brain,  my  nerves,  my  heart,  my  eyes,  my  ears  I 
have  to  live  by,  not  yours.  I  cannot  go  on  taking 
your  ideas  at  second-hand.  I  did  so  as  long  as  I 
could,  and  it  has  made  me  perfectly  miserable." 
Then  her  harshness,  injustice,  unreason,  became 
apparent  even  to  herself  as  she  saw  the  sorrow  in 
her  mother's  face.  "  Oh,  mamma,"  she  cried, 
dropping  into  contrition,  "forgive  me  for  being 
cruel." 

Constance,  however,  was  glad  of  any  outburst 
which  gave  her  a  chance  of  insight  into  what  was 
behind  the  general  rebellion  and  revolt  in  the  young 
girl's  mind.  It  was  an  unmanageable  idea  that 
Kitty  no  longer  cared  for  Glen.  Constance  was 
more  ready  to  believe  that  the  passionate  stirring  of 
feeling  had  gone  far  deeper  than  she  had  at  first 
believed.  In  spite  of  the  seeming  complexity  of 
many  human  motives  there  is  apt  to  be  some  very 
simple,  some  elementary  need  behind  them  all. 

Agatha  Darrow  had  set  out  to  pay  Kitty  a  visit, 
and  they  encountered  her,  and,  a  little  farther  on, 
John  Haliburton.  The  four  naturally  divided  into 


296  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

pairs,  Kitty  and  Agatha  leading  the  way,  and  the 
elders  following. 

Haliburton  looked  at  Constance  closely. 

"  You  are  a  little  lighter-hearted  to-day,"  he 
said. 

"  Yes,  it  was  something  that  Kitty  consented  tc 
come  out  with  me." 

"  It  will  all  turn  out  right." 

"  Kitty  will  live  down  this  state  of  mind.  It  is 
like  a  grief,  —  it  spends  itself  and  is  spent.  Bui 
I  shall  not  have  my  happy  little  girl  back  again,' 
said  Constance. 

"  That  exists  in  the  nature  of  things,"  said  Hal 
iburton.  "  She  is  eighteen  years  old.  She  cannol; 
be  a  happy  little  girl  again.  What  you  want  is  tc 
have  her  a  happy  woman." 

Haliburton  had  received  a  letter  from  Glen  thai 
morning,  and  had  come  out  early  from  town  ir' 
order  to  consult  Constance.  Glen's  employer! 
had  decided  to  send  him  to  London  on  a  mattei 
of  business  connected  with  some  English  copy' 
rights,  and  to  settle  the  question  about  certair 
illustrations  for  a  book.  Haliburton  was  to  tak(: 
the  four  o'clock  train  to  New  York  in  order  fei 
catch  a  last  glimpse  of  Glen  before  he  sailed  or 
the  following  day  at  ten  o'clock. 

Constance  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"  That  settles  the  question,"  she  murmured. 

"  What  question  ?  " 

"  I  have  thought  of  writing  and  telling  Glen  fa 
come  back  to  see  Kitty." 


HALIBUETON  FINDS  HIS   OPPOBTUNITY.      297 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  give  your  consent  to  his 
marrying  her?"  asked  Haliburtoii  much  per 
turbed. 

Constance  gave  him  an  account  of  her  talk  with 
Kitty ;  told  him  how  the  young  girl  had  declared 
that  she  wished  never  to  see  Glen  again. 

"  But  it  does  not  make  me  believe  that  she  no 
longer  cares  for  him,"  Constance  added ;  "  rather 
the  reverse." 

Haliburton  looked  at  Constance  intently. 
"  She  is  jealous  of  you,"  he  said. 
"  But  that  is  folly." 

"  I  have  been  in  love,  and  I  know  that  one  may 
be  jealous  even  of  a  caress  given  to  a  dog.     In  this 
:  case  Kitty  might  readily  be  jealous  of   a  feeling 
that  has  existed  so  long,  that  in  a  way  has  been 
made  fixed  and  durable.     Has  she  read  those  son 
nets?" 

i      "  Unluckily,  yes." 

i      "  Ah  !  "  Haliburton  gave  Constance  a  side  glance 
•  as  they  walked  on. 

"  I  told  her  that  to  me  they  were  both  foolish 
I  and  incomprehensible,"    she  said,  with  some  con- 
i  straint ;  "  that  is,  so  far  as  I  could  bring  myself  to 
read  them." 

"  Still  "  —Haliburton  began,  then  hesitated. 
"Still  what?" 

"  Their    incomprehensibility    and    folly    might 
make  her  believe  all  the  more  powerfully  in  their 
meaning.     If  you  and  she  were  on  equal  terms  " 
"But  are  we  not?" 


298  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

"  Far  from  it.  You  are  older,  more  experienced. 
Above  all,  you  are  not  in  love  with  Glen,  and  I 
hope  Kitty  is.  But  you  being  just  what  you  are,  it 
is  as  hard  for  her  to  believe  that,  after  having  given 
his  love  to  you,  Glen  could  love  her  as  it  is  for 
me  to  believe  that  " 

He  did  not  finish,  and  she  gave  him  a  question 
ing  look. 

"Surely  you  understand  me,"  he  said,  coloring 
deeply. 

"  Not  quite." 

"  I  mean  that  when  I  reflect  that  Glen  has  loved* 
you  in  vain,  there  seems  no  sort  of  hope  for  a  dull 
fellow  like  me." 

Her  lips  opened  as  if  to  speak.  A  new  feeling  i 
shone  in  her  eyes  ;  she  blushed,  and  had  the  air 
of  suddenly  experiencing  the  conviction  of  a  fact 
which  she  had  never  before  accepted. 

"  Do  not  speak  of  love,"  she  said,  after  a  little  j 
pause.     "If  you  could  realize  how  I  value  your,' 
friendship,  how  I  feel  your  support,  how  I  —  in 
fact  —  how  it  has  comforted   me  in   these  lonely 
days   to   think  that  you  —  that  any  one  "          He  • 
saw  that  her  eyes  were  suffused  with  tears.     "  You 
see,"  she  went  on  after  a  struggle  for  self-control, 
"  you  see  I  have  lost  faith  in  myself.     I  seem  no 
longer  to  have  any  belief  in  my  own  judgment.     I 
knew  before   that   at  critical    periods   in  my    life 
I  had    made  mistakes.     Twice  I  married,  failing 
wholly  to  understand  my  own  needs,  my  own  duty, 
without  counting  the  cost  of  marriage.     Twice  I 


HALIBURTON  FINDS  HIS   OPPORTUNITY.      299 

have  had  to  fight  with  the  remorse  a  woman  feels 
for  the  dead  for  whom  she  might  have  done  much, 
but  for  whom  she  can  do  no  more." 

As  she  spoke,  Haliburton  laid  his  hand  on  her 
arm.  "  I  am  certain,"  he  said  in  an  agitated  voice, 
"  that  all  your  life  long  you  have  made  every  in 
dividual  person  who  had  the  joy  of  being  near  you 
perfectly  happy." 

"You  are  very  good  to  say  so,"  Constance  re 
turned,  and  as  she  looked  up  at  him  there  was  a 
half  smile  on  her  lips.  "  At  any  rate,  whatever  my 
sins  had  been,  I  meant  to  make  no  mistakes  with 
Kitty.  I  intended  to  foresee  everything,  to  provide 
for  everything." 

"  In  short,  be  omniscient  and  omnipotent,"  said 
Haliburton.  "  But  then  it  was  never  intended  we 
should  be  omniscient  and  omnipotent.  The  truth 
is,  you  felt  that  Kitty  was  wax  in  your  hands  to 
be  modeled  into  just  the  sort  of  being  you  yourself 
;  are.  Whereas,  she  is  only  half  your  child  ;  she 
'has  a  separate  character,  a  separate  temperament 
"which  has  to  be  taken  into  account." 

"  I  have  said  that  to  myself  of  late.  Her  father 
[had  a  much  more  persistent  and  passionate  will 
than  I  have.  In  the  least  conflict  of  opinion  it  was 
[my  habit  to  give  up  to  him  on  the  instant.  Of  late, 
[!when  I  have  found  myself  on  the  point  of  surrender- 
Ling  to  Kitty,  I  have  " 

Constance  broke  off  and  sighed,  yet  smiled  as 
[she  pointed  towards  the  two  girls  some  distance  in 
(front,  who  had  seated  themselves  on  top  of  the 


300  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGIITEE. 

stile,  and  were  talking  with  animation.  The  wind 
played  softly  through  the  rosy  maples  and  the 
yellow  chestnuts,  and  scattered  now  and  then  a 
leaf.  The  dogs  were  lying  on  the  ground,  looking 
up  wistfully  while  they  waited. 

"  If  you  really  wish  to  have  Glen  come  on,"  said 
Haliburton,  "he  would  be  glad  enough  to  fling 
business  to  the  winds  and  come." 

"  No,  he  must  not  fling  business  to  the  winds," 
said  Constance. 

"  He  says  he  felt  at  first  on  going  away  as  a 
cabbage  feels  when  pulled  up  out  of  its  quiet,  com 
fortable  cabbage-garden,"  said  Haliburton.  "  But 
he  is  getting  used  to  it." 

"  There  is  everything  in  getting  used  to  it,"  re 
turned  Constance.  "  At  this  moment  even  Kitty 
seems  happy.  No,  we  will  not  spoil  Glen's  great 
chance.  I  only  felt  so  sure  that  one  word  from 
him,  even  a  look,  would  convince  Kitty  that  she 
has  no  need  to  be  jealous  of  me."  She  gave  a 
half  bitter  little  laugh. 

"  Constance,"  said  Haliburtou  in  a  low  voice. 

She  raised  her  eyes.  In  his  face  was  the  ex 
pression  of  all  that  had  lain  vibrating  so  long 
in  the  man's  inmost  soul. 

"  Marry  me,"  he  said.  "  It  will  end  all  Kitty's 
mistakes,  —  all  poor  Glen's,  too,  if  you  will  marry 
me." 

She  dropped  her  eyes,  smiled,  blushed,  and 
shook  her  head. 

"  You  know  it  is  impossible,"  she  murmured. 


HALIBURTON  FINDS  HIS  OPPORTUNITY.     301 

"  I  know  nothing  of  the  sort." 

"  I  shall  have  to  teach  you,  then,  its  absolute 
impracticability." 

"  You  could  not.  I  could  help  you,  —  even  in 
this  matter  more  than  you  think." 

"  Oh,  I  know  that  you  can  always  help  me,  Mr. 
Haliburton."  She  smiled  as  she  spoke.  Still  he 
did  not  feel  encouraged  to  go  on.  All  he  said 
was,  — 

"  You  still  call  me  Mr.  Haliburton." 

"  You  never  told  me  to  call  you  anything  else," 
she  replied,  with  some  archness. 

"  Do  you  know  the  reason  ?  If  you  were  to  call 
me  plain  John,  I  actually  believe  I  should  go  mad 
with  happiness." 

At  least  he  had  had  his  say.  He  no  longer 
needed  to  reproach  himself  by  the  warning,  "  He 
who  abstains  is  taken  at  his  word." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE   RED   FLAG. 

THE  four  walked  on  together  for  the  rest  of  the 
way.  But  when  Constance  and  Kitty  were  left 
alone  together  it  was  clear  that  the  latter  had 
carried  away  an  abundance  of  ideas  from  her  talk 
with  Agatha.  Agatha  had  confided  to  Kitty  that 
she  was  eating  her  heart  out  with  longing  for  some 
thing  to  do,  —  something  to  be.  No  declaration 
could  have  struck  a  more  responsive  chord.  Kitty 
had  been  eating  her  own  heart  out.  But  Agatha, 
when  she  had  a  little  fight  with  Fate,  was  not 
likely  to  yield  without  getting  at  least  a  part  of 
what  she  wanted.  To  her,  life  was  an  experience 
to  be  dealt  with  experimentally.  Kitty  also  wished 
to  experiment. 

She  told  her  mother  that  she  should  like  to  be 
a  nurse,  —  Agatha  had  almost  decided  to  be  a 
nurse  ;  the  best  object  in  life  surely  was  to  try  to 
diminish  human  pain,  and  to  study  how  to  do  this 
scientifically  and  effectively  seemed  the  best  sort 
of  practical  effort.  The  trouble  was  that  she  and 
Agatha  longed  to  do  something  together,  and  Kitty 
was  far  too  young  to  be  accepted  at  a  training- 
school.  To  wait  all  those  years  before  she  reached 


THE  RED  FLAG.  303 

the  required  standard  was,  however,  impossible. 
How  impatient  she  and  Gatty  were  at  all  the  petty 
restrictions  put  in  the  way  of  heroic  effort.  They 
could,  of  course,  understand  the  consistency  of 
applying  certain  rules  to  average  cases,  but  still 
there  ought  to  be  some  loophole  made  for  individ- 

I  ual  needs  and  aspirations,  like  Kitty's,  for  example. 
Kitty  looked  at  her  mother  for  sympathy. 
"  You  would  like  to  have  me  a  nurse,  mamma  ?  " 
u  Oh,  my  darling  !    It  is  a  very  hard  life,  —  but 

;  still  it  is  a  very  noble  life,  and  I  should  admire 
you,  I  should  feel  proud  of  you,  if  you  could  enter 

:  011  it  and  persist  in  it.     Nevertheless,  it  seems  to 

1  be  out  of  the  question  for  some  years  to  come." 

The  very  suggestion  of  an  avenue  of  escape  from 
the  daily  routine  which  had  oppressed  and  dead 
ened  her  had  given  Kitty  a  look  of  animation.  Her 

1  voice  was  sweet  and  sympathetic  again ;  her  step 
elastic ;  her  eyes  had  lost  their  heavy,  melancholy, 

i troubled  brightness;  her  .lips  had  renewed  their 
vermilion.  It  was  Kitty  once  more,  —  not  a 
suffering  woman  ;  and  Constance  could  only  feel 
grateful  for  the  change.  For  three  or  four  days 

i  inquiries  were  pushed  as  to  the  age  restrictions  at 

ithe  training-schools.  Kitty  said  twenty  times  a 
day,  "Oh,  if  I  were  but  ten  years  older."  She 

;and  Agatha  were  constantly  together,  the  latter 
talking  with  an  impassioned  rapidity,  while  Kitty 

; found  ample  breathing  room  in  Agatha's  enthusi 
asm.  Life  seemed  easy  again,  its  meaning  clear, 
while,  with  senses  all  a-quiver,  Kitty  drank  in 


304  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

Agatha's  fluent  discourses.  And  this  burning 
desire  for  some  sort  of  individual  effort  carried 
Kitty  through  the  next  two  weeks. 

She  set  to  work  with  her  brush  and  paints, 
occupying  herself  with  them  day  after  day,  with 
some  evident  clear  intention  which  Constance  did 
not  at  first  understand,  but  was  ready  to  sympa 
thize  with.  When  Kitty  brought  her  mother  half 
a  dozen  pretty  little  fancies,  —  a  branch  of  apple- 
blossoms  straggling  across  the  canvas,  a  group  of 
cosmos  flowers  against  a  vivid  blue  sky,  a  spray 
of  pink  roses  bent  with  its  weight  of  raindrops 
from  a  passing  shower,  a  choice  of  applied  ideas 
from  Japanese  art  possessing  attractive  color  and 
some  charm  of  sentiment,  —  Constance  was  frankly 
delighted. 

"  I  remember,  mamma,"  said  Kitty,  "  you  used 
to  say  it  was  better  to  do  nothing  than  to  commit 
absurdities.  I  thought  it  was  better  to  commit 
absurdities  than  to  do  nothing." 

"  But  these  are  not  absurd,  —  they  are  actually 
very  nice  indeed.  I  shall  love  to  have  them 
prettily  framed  and  hung  up." 

She  detected  a  certain  wistfulness  in  Kitty's 
look. 

"  Do  you  think,  mamma,"  she  asked,  "  that  any 
body  would  be  likely  to  buy  them  ?  " 

"  Buy  them  ?  I  will  buy  them  if  you  wish  to 
sell  them." 

"  Oh,  I  do  not  mean  that.  It  is  not  merely  a 
question  of  money.  I  should  like  to  earn  money, 


THE  BED  FLAG.  305 

but  it  would  be  chiefly  because  it  proved  that  what 
I  did  possessed  some  value,  —  that  I  am  not  an 
inferior  or  commonplace  artist." 

"  Ah,  when  one's  little  pigs  stay  at  home  they 
are  the  cleverest  little  pigs  in  the  world,  but  the 
moment  one  takes  them  to  market  there  are  so 
many  others  cleverer,  one's  own  little  pigs  have 
so  slight  a  chance." 

But  even  while  she  spoke  the  face  she  was  look 
ing  at  grew  scarlet,  and,  before  she  had  finished  her 
speech,  tears  gained  the  mastery.  The  young  girl 
snatched  the  pictures  and  would  have  torn  them 
across  if  Constance  had  not  been  too  quick  for  her. 

"  Surely,  Kitty  dear,"  she  said,  "  you  are  not  so 
sensitive  but  that  I  may  have  my  little  joke." 

"  Ah,  you  may  like  to  joke,  but  it  is  death  to 
me." 

"  I  said,  I  still  say,  it  is  a  charming  talent  this 
of  yours." 

"  But  only  amateur  talent,"  Kitty  said,  with  a 
bitterness  which  made  itself  felt. 

"  What  are  you  but  an  amateur  ?  "  Constance 
said,  with  perfect  serenity.  "  You  were  such  a 
bright,  clever,  little  girl  I  used  to  say  to  myself, 
'  My  Kitty  will  be  a  genius.'  I  suppose  mothers 
will  never  get  over  the  hope  and  belief  that  they 
have  brought  a  shining  genius  into  the  world. 
At  that  time  I  used  to  take  you  to  the  Uffizi  and 
Pitti  galleries  to  see  the  great  pictures  and  statues, 
and  you  know  I  still  keep  the  models  and  sketches 
you  made  after  them.  I  sent  for  masters,  but 


306  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

somehow,  although  they  said  you  had  a  certain 
clever  trick,  —  really  quite  a  good  deal  of  talent, 
—  the  spark  of  genius  did  not  show  itself.  So 
I  did  not  let  you  make  too  much  of  your  work,  for 
a  half  talent  is  so  terribly  disappointing.  It  is 
just  as  well  to  draw  the  line  sharply ;  to  he  thank 
ful  that  genius  does  exist,  to  say  to  one's  self  it  is 
enough  that  other  people  have  genius." 

"  It  is  not  enough  to  me  that  other  people  have 
genius,"  answered  Kitty.  "  It  is  not  enough  to  me 
that  you  decide  that  I  am  a  child,  —  that  I  know 
nothing,  feel  nothing,  must  be  always  led  about. 
If  I  am  to  wait  for  your  decision,  I  shall  never 
do  anything,  —  never  be  anything.  If,  as  a  little 
girl,  I  had  even  the  least  show  of  talent,  I  am 
certain  that,  as  a  woman,  I  have  ten  times  that 
amount.  You  may  laugh  as  you  like,  mamma, 
about  taking  my  drawings  to  market,  but  I  do 
believe  I  could  earn  my  living  by  them." 

"  But  you  do  not  need  to  earn  your  living.  AVe 
are  not  rich,  but  we  have  a  little  money  very  safely 
and  well  invested.  You  shall  study  and  work  all 
you  like ;  you  shall  develop  so  much  genius  that 
you  can  put  me  wholly  in  the  wrong.  You  can  "  — 

"  Can  I  go  to  Paris  with  Gatty  and  study  art, 
mamma?"  demanded  Kitty,  her  eyes  sparkling. 

"  Go  to  Paris  and  study  ?  With  Gatty  ?  "  Con 
stance  repeated,  as  if  dazed. 

"  That  is  what  we  want  to  do,"  said  Kitty. 
"  Take  a  little  apartment,  keep  house,  and  work  at 
one  of  the  large  studios." 


THE  RED  FLAG.  307 

All  Kitty's  brightest  self  was  in  her  look;  all 
(the  old  charm,  zest,  appetite,  had  come  back  to  her 
life  along  with  this  new  hope,  — that  was  clear. 

"  Do  you  mean,"  inquired  Constance,  "  that  I  am 
to  go  with  you?" 

"  Oh  no,  mamma,  only  Gatty  and  I.  That  is 
ihalf  the  fun  of  it  that  we  are  to  go  just  by  our- 
[selves." 

"  Can  it  be  that  you  mean  you  wish  to  go  away 
land  leave  me  alone  ?  " 

"You  would  have  uncle  Richard  and  —  and  — 
fell  the  friends." 

Constance  could  feel  the  blood  rushing  to  her 
heart,  which  beat  heavily  and  unevenly. 

"  Oh,  Kitty,"  she  faltered  tremulously,  "  oh, 
IKitty,  you  hurt  me." 

The  two  looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment  in 
silence.  What  Constance  saw  in  Kitty's  face  was 
•the  answer,  "  But,  mamma,  you  hurt  me."  She 
understood  —  she  could  not  help  understanding  — 
ithat  planted  between  her  and  her  child  was  her 
offense,  —  still  unforgiven.  She  almost  felt  that 
Kitty  longed  to  make  her  expiate  it ;  that  this 
kcheme  was  a  part  of  her  appointed  punishment. 

Kitty  remained  silent,  but  it  was  a  silence  in 
which  she  was  gathering  her  strength,  then  she 
ourst  out,  — 

"  I  cannot  stay  here,  mamma.  It  is  impossible 
;or  me  to  stay  here.  I  want  some  life  of  my 
)wn." 

"  A  life  of  your  own  ?  " 


308  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

"  I  mean  I  want  something  to  do.  I  have  cour 
age  and  force  within  me  ;  I  want  to  spend  them  in 
work ;  I  long  to  achieve  something.  This  easy^ 
comfortable  life  which  brings  me  no  opportunity  to 
use  my  powers  has  become  intolerable." 

Constance  continued  to  look  at  Kitty  with  an 
expression  of  pain  and  bewilderment.  So  many 
thoughts  and  sensations  in  her  mind  rushed  to? 
gether  at  once  they  jostled  each  other,  and  only 
confused  beginnings  of  sentences  occurred  to  her. 
She  could  have  burst  out  with  reproaches,  sarcasms, 
angry  remonstrances,  for  the  mere  suggestion  of 
this  scheme  was  an  outrage  upon  her  rights,  hef 
own  dignity.  But  what  were  her  own  rights,  her 
own  dignity,  when  Kitty  asked  for  anything  ?  She 
might  have  denounced  the  whole  enterprise  as  hys 
terical,  —  the  mere  stirring  of  youthful  insubordi 
nation,  the  love  of  movement,  —  the  craving  for 
notoriety.  Her  taste,  her  whole  womanly  instinct, 
rejected  the  idea  of  having  her  child  rushing  round 
the  world  in  search  of  adventures.  But  yet  sh^ 
was  able  sufficiently  to  analyze  her  intense  an 
tagonism  ;  to  confess  to  herself  that  what  went  to 
her  heart  like  a  knife  was  the  fact  that  Kitty  had 
withdrawn  wholly  from  her  influence,  had  surren 
dered  herself  to  others ;  that  Kitty  found  he^ 
companionship  irksome,  —  wished  to  go  away  from 
her. 

What  Constance  finally  said  was,  — 

"  But  who  will  take  care  of  you  ?  " 

Kitty  gave  a  little  laugh.     "  Oh,  mamma,  that  is 


THE  BED  FLAG.  309 

vliere  you  make  such  a  mistake  about  me.  You 
hink  I  am  a  foolish  child,  but  really  I  am  not 
i  child.  You  were  married  when  you  were  only  a 
'ew  months  older  than  I  am  now.  You  were  left  a 
•widow  and  went  on  living  in  Italy  all  by  yourself 
lentil  you  married  papa." 

u  I  had  no  mother.     My  father  had  died.     I  had 
wo  home  here." 

u  My  having  had  you  so  long  has  taught  me  all 
$he  better  to  take  care  of  myself  now.  I  shall 
loon  be  nineteen.  I  am  sure  I  feel  as  if  I  were 
thirty-nine.  And,  in  any  case,  Gatty  is  older, — 
Ihe  will  be  twenty-five  in  a  few  weeks." 
•  Constance  remained  silent,  and  Kitty  began  to 
bive  her  all  the  details  of  the  enterprise.  All  was 
apparently  arranged  with  a  skill  and  assurance 
which  seemed  to  have  foreseen  every  difficulty  and 
provided  for  each  emergency.  Gatty  had  found 
but  what  a  little  suite  of  four  or  five  rooms  would 
post ;  she  knew  of  a  sensible  French  maid  whom 
ishey  could  have  at  so  many  francs  a  week,  —  who 
Bvas  a  clever  cook,  understood  the  markets,  and 
liould  do  all  the  work  in  the  appartement,  with 
Borne  occasional  help  from  bfrotteur.  This  sudden 
*rip  upon  the  practical  details  of  life  filled  Con- 
,3tance  with  a  hopeless  pang  of  admiration.  Was 
'this  her  little  Kitty  whose  ideas  took  shape  with 
mch  admirable  lucidity?  The  little  parade  of 
economy,  the  self-abnegation  exhibited  in  dispens 
ing  with  whatever  they  did  not  care  for,  —  that  is, 
the  mere  necessaries  of  life,  being  able  thus  to 


310  THE  EEVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

concentrate  themselves  on  the  luxuries. — would 
have  raised  a  smile  at  any  other  time.  The  little 
flaunt  of  Boheniianism  in  Kitty's  saying,  "  We 
shall  not  need  any  clothes  except  blouses  and  serge 
skirts ;  we  shall  not  go  into  society  at  all,  and  so 
ciety  will  not  come  near  us ;  we  wish  to  know 
nothing  and  care  for  nothing  except  art,"  had  its 
own  flavor  of  absurdity ;  but  Constance  was  too 
terribly  in  earnest  to  find  anything  amusing  in  the 
situation. 

"Of  course,"  Kitty  went  on,  "unless  women  are 
artists  this  sort  of  a  life  would  be  impracticable ; 
but  we  intend  to  throw  ourselves  into  it  heart  and 
soul  and  mind  and  strength." 

"  Have  you  asked  Mrs.  Darrow's  consent  ? " 
Constance  now  inquired. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Darrow  quite  approves,"  Kitty  made 
haste  to  answer.  "  She  has  not  only  given  her  con 
sent  to  Gatty's  going,  but  she  encourages  it.  She 
offered  to  break  the  matter  to  you.  I  was  not  sure 
that  I  was  brave  enough."  The  girl  laughed 
rather  tremulously. 

"  You  knew  I  could  not  approve ;  you  must 
understand  now  that  I  am  utterly  opposed  to  the 
scheme.  It  seems  to  me  it  would  be  absolutely 
wrong  to  give  my  consent  to  it."  Constance  spoke 
with  intense  feeling  and  resolution  in  her  voice. 

"  I  remember,  mamma,"  murmured  Kitty,  grow 
ing  pale  to  the  lips,  "  that  you  said  you  would  do 
anything  to  make  me  happy.  And  this  is  all  I  ask 
for.  I  think  you  owe  me  this  compensation." 


THE  BED  FLAG.  311 

"Let  us  be  frank,  Kitty;  let  us  not  deal  in 
phrases.  I  owe  you  compensation  for  what  ?  " 

Kitty  shook  like  a  leaf.  For  a  moment  she  found 
it  hard  to  speak,  then  she  whispered,  — 

i      "  For  robbing-  me  of  all  I  cared  for  in  life." 
"  Do  you  mean  Glen  ?  " 
u  I  mean  my  belief  in  Glen,  —  my  feeling  that 

,he  cared  for  me  just  as  I  cared  for  him.     He  be- 

!  longed  to  you,  —  all  the  time  he  belonged  to  you  ; 

•he  only  pretended  to  be  interested  in  me  because  I 

: thrust  myself  upon  him." 

"  If  I  were  to  prove  to  you  that  Glen  never  really 

scared  for  me  ;  that  it  was  a  mere  flash  of  youthful, 
poetic  fervor  ;  if  he  were  to  come  to  you  —  to  tell 

you  "  - 

"  I  wish  never  to  see  him  again,"  cried  Kitty. 
"  I  hate  myself  when  I  think  of  him  ;  I  feel  how 
childish,  how  silly  I  was.  I  do  not  blame  him  ;  I 
do  not  blame  you  except,  that  is,  for  not  telling  me 
in  time ;  I  only  blame  myself.  Let  all  that  go, 
mamma ;  it  is  over.  I  do  not  suppose  I  really 

:  loved  him,  —  perhaps,  as  you  said  once,  it  was  my 
irick  of  idealizing  everything  and  everybody.  But 
it  seems  to  me  that  I  did  love  him  —  only — you 
3ame  in  between.  He  could  n't  love  me  after 
oving  you.  I  know  you  too  well  for  that ;  I  know 
lim  too  well  for  that ;  and  I  know  myself  too  well 
•;o  feel  that  I  am  worth  his  loving  me.  I  also  know 
myself  so  well  that  I  would  n't  let  him  take  me  out 

;  )f  pity.  And  I  hate  the  idea  of  love ;  I  hate  the 
•nought  that  I  am  a  flesh-and-blood  body  that  has 


312  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

any  need  of  love.  What  saves  me  is  the  know 
ledge  that  I  have  a  brain  and  soul,  and  that  in  that 
brain  and  soul  there  is  help  for  me  if  I  can  have 
the  life  I  need." 

"  But,  Kitty,"  Constance  said  in  an  agony  of 
tenderness,  — 

"  But  what,  mamma  ?  " 

"  This  instinct  that  you  may  choose  for  yourself ; 
shake  off  the  harness  of  custom,  of  duty ;  claim 
your  share  of  the  pleasure  and  "  — 

Kitty  interrupted  her.     "It  is  not  pleasure  ij 
want.     And  what  duty  have  I  that  I  am  not  ful 
filling  in  doing  the  best  I  can  with  my  faculties 
and  powers  ?  " 

"  No  duty  to  me  ?  " 

"  You  cannot  sympathize  with  me,  mamma ;  you 
are  an  admirable  mechanism  ;  you  are  beautifully 
wound  up ;  but  you  cannot  leap  out  of  your  own 
system  of  cogs  and  wheels.  You  will  have  to  go 
round  and  round  in  the  same  old  way.  I  suppose 
it  is  because  you  were  born  a  Quaker."  Kitty 
laughed  as  she  spoke,  and  her  manner  gave  her 
words  an  archness  which  in  part  robbed  them  of 
their  sting.  Still,  Kitty  saw  that  her  mother 
flushed  crimson,  and  that  she  evidently  suppressed 
the  rejoinder  which  flashed  in  her  eyes,  even  if  it 
did  not  come  to  her  lips.  After  a  moment's  pause, 
Constance  said,  — 

"  I  will  not  dogmatize  on  the  subject." 

"  I  think  you  may  trust  me,"  Kitty  said,  with 
some  stateliness.  "  You  wish,  you  have  always 


THE  RED  FLAG.  313 

said,  to  make  me  happy,  and  this  is  all  I  ask  for. 
I  suppose  I  may  ask  for  a  little  money  —  at  first. 
Afterwards  I  hope,  —  but,  perhaps,  my  hopes  are 
only  fit  to  smile  at.  No  matter ;  if  I  cannot 
make  my  own  living  I  can  starve.  That  is  what 
Gatty  says,  —  to  starve  to  death  is  hard,  but  not 
half  so  hard  as  to  be  wearied  and  bored  to  death." 
Then,  at  the  expression  on  her  mother's  face,  Kitty's 
mood  melted  a  little.  She  drew  nearer  Constance. 
"  At  least,  mamma,"  she  said  in  a  broken  voice, 
"  it  will  be  safety  and  peace.  There  was  a  long 
time  when  I  wanted  to  die.  I  thought  of  the  '  Im- 
plora  pace '  on  the  old  tombs  at  home.  But  this 
also  will  be  peace,  —  peace  and  hope,  —  the  peace 
and  hope  of  a  different  life." 

As  she  spoke,  she  clasped  her  arms  about  Con 
stance,   who  was    shaken,    feeling   herself   at   the 

r  mercy  of  a   power  against  which  she   could   not 

'  contend. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

YOUTH    AND   AET. 

HAVING  flung  their  flag  to  the  breeze,  Gatty's 
and  Kitty's  preparations  went  on  apace. 

Constance  had  not  yielded  at  once.  She  had; 
talked  with  Ambury  Darrow  and  his  wife. 

"  Oh,  let  her  go,"  said  Ambury.  "  They  will  do 
no  harm,  and  they  may  find  out  their  folly.  I  am 
thankful  to  have  two  of  my  girls  stick  by  me. 
This  present  generation  is  a  little  cracked,  I  fear. 
They  have'  taken  cold,  and  their  measles  has  been 
driven  in  and  has  gone  to  the  head." 

Mrs.  Darrow  was  unhesitatingly  fluent,  as  usual ; 
dogmatic  and  sentimental  at  once  ;  these  two  beauti 
ful,  buoyant  young  souls  demanded  but  one  simple 
right,  —  that  of  enlarging  their  lives,  putting  aside 
the  claims  of  family,  and  living  for  art. 

Richard  Amory  said  that  Ambury's  wife  always 
reminded  him  of  the  free-thinker  at  whom  Dr. 
Johnson  thundered,  —  "  Friend,  thee  is  a  bigot  to 
laxness." 

But  Richard  Amory  himself  advised  Constance 
to  yield. 

"  Thee  will  find  that  thee  will  never  regret  that 
thee  thyself  makes  the  sacrifice,"  he  said.  "  What 
robs  us  is  the  sacrifice  we  impose." 


YOUTH  AND  ART.  315 

"  That  is  what  I  feel,  —  that  I  ought  not,  just 
for  her  soul's  good,  to  let  Kitty  carry  out  what  is 
only  an  egotistical  freak  of  Agatha's,"  said  Con 
stance. 

"  Thee  speaks  as  if  thee  could  govern  facts,  —  as 
if  thee  could  say  to  the  rising  tide, '  Thus  far  and 
no  farther.' ': 

Then,  presently,  he  added,  "  Thee  must  remem 
ber,  Constance,  what  Seneca  says  :  '  Many  travel 
for  pleasure  to  that  city  to  which  thou  art  banished ; ' 
many  mothers  fit  out  their  daughters  gladly  to  go 
to  Paris.  Thee  has  said  constantly  that  Kitty's 
education  was  not  complete ;  that  thee  must  send 
her  to  school,  —  perhaps  even  to  college.  Let  us 
say  to  ourselves,  k  She  is  finishing  at  Paris,  —  she 
is  acquiring  the  accent.'  ' 

"  She  speaks  French  like  a  Parisian  already," 
Constance  pleaded. 

"  Thee  has  not  learned  the  pang  of  philosophy," 
said  Richard  Amory.  "  Thee  finds  the  logical 
must  too  hard.  Philosophy  will  give  thee  an  in 
controvertible  argument  for  accepting  what  thee 
cannot  help." 

What  Haliburton  said  was,  "  Poor  Constance ; 
appointed  to  love  and  to  suffer." 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  it  is  not  my  pride  that  suf 
fers  most,"  Constance  rejoined.  "  I  am  a  dread- 
ifully  proud  woman,  and  this  humiliates  me." 

"  Poor  Constance  !  " 

"  Mrs.  Darrow  triumphs  over  me.  She  tells  me 
'she  always  saw  that  I  was  bringing  Kitty  up, 


316  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

not  according  to  her  needs,  but  according  to  my 
wishes." 

"  I  know  she  takes  the  detestable  contemporary 
tone,  but  no  matter." 

"  Of  all  the  evil  things  that  could  have  happened 
to  me,"  Constance  went  on,  "  I  should  least  have 
expected  to  give  Kitty  over  to  such  an  influence 
as  Agatha  Darrow's.  They  talk  about  a  life  of 
sacrifice,  strict  industry,  full  of  study  and  mental 
expansion ;  but  all  the  time  they  are  thinking  of 
how  delightful  it  will  be  to  have  no  duties,  no  re 
strictions,  nothing  but  enjoyment.  But,  after  all, 
that  is  not  the  point." 

"  The  real  point  is,"  said  Haliburton,  "  that  you 
are  giving  up  your  Kitty." 

"Exactly."  Constance  smiled  and  sighed.  "I 
think  of  nothing  else.  My  brain  wearies  itself  out  i 
in  going  over  and  over  the  thought  of  what  Kitty 
will  do  without  me.  I  cannot  put  my  state  of  mind 
into  words  ;  I  am  so  utterly  broken  up  by  forecasts, 
imaginations,  terrors.  You  see  she  has  always  slept 
in  a  little  bed  in  the  room  next  to  mine.  I  have 
looked  at  her  after  she  has  fallen  asleep.  I  " 

Haliburton  took  her  hand. 

"  You  would  like  to  go  with  her,  —  watch  over  { 
her?" 

"  Yes."  Constance  made  this  confession  with  a 
feeling  of  shame,  of  contrition.  "  You  cannot  think 

O  ' 

how  terrible  the  wrench  is." 

"  Could  you  not  go  ?  "  he  asked,  with  some  visi 
ble  effort. 


YOUTH  AND  AET.  317 

"  She  does  not  want  me.  She  repudiates  the 
idea  that  she  could  possibly  have  any  need  of  me." 

Haliburton  could  not  have  pushed  any  claims  of 
his  own  at  such  a  moment.  He  may  have  felt, 
however,  some  of  the  magnanimity  of  a  man  who 
sees  that  fate  is  doing  for  him  what  he  could  not 
have  done  for  himself.  Still,  Haliburton  perhaps 
thought  he  could  assist  fate  a  little. 

Agatha  and  Kitty  were  to  sail  in  the  French 
steamer  on  the  22d  of  October.  They  were  to 
cross  with  the  Willoughbys,  who  were  connections, 
and  were  glad  to  look  after  the  young  art  students. 
Indeed,  since  Mrs.  Willoughby  was  to  spend  a 
year  in  Paris,  this  suggestion  of  chaperonage  was 
to  Constance  something  to  be  grateful  for.  It  so 
fell  out  that  Haliburton  had  received  word  from 
Glen  Reiinie  that  he  was  to  sail  from  Southamp 
ton  for  New  York  on  the  26th  of  October. 

When  Haliburton  mentioned  this  to  Constance, 
she  exclaimed,  — 

"  '  Ships  that  pass  in  the  night.'  It  had  occurred 
to  me  that  if  Glen  only  knew  " 

"  Knew  that  Kitty  was  going  to  Paris,  he  would 
prevent  it  ?  " 

"  Something  of  the  sort  has  passed  through  my 
mind.  I  have  felt  the  need  of  Glen  of  late.  If  I 
could  talk  over  the  whole  subject  of  Kitty  with 
him.  If  I  could  discuss  the  whole  matter  with  him 
pro  and  con  " 

"  The  matter  of  his  marrying  Kitty?  " 

Constance  made  a  little  gesture  of  deprecation. 


318  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

"  I  say  simply  discuss  the  whole  matter.  I  have 
no  settled  theory.  Sometimes  for  half  an  hour  I 
can  bring  myself  to  see  over  and  beyond  all  this 
present  turmoil  of  feeling.  It  seems,  then,  as  if 
possibly  all  this  might  turn  out  for  the  best.  Kitty 
says  she  does  not  love  Glen  any  more,  —  wishes 
never  to  see  him  again  " 

"  But  she  does  love  him,  nevertheless,"  said  Hali- 
burton,  with  feeling.  "  To  see  him  again  would  set 
the  world  right  for  her." 

"Tell  me  why  you  think  so,"  Constance  mur 
mured. 

"  When  Glen  went  away  from  here  in  Septem 
ber,  he  asked  me  not  to  let  Kitty  forget  him.  I 
said  to  her  yesterday  that  I  often  wrote  to  Glen, 
and  that  he  would  be  so  glad  of  a  message." 

"  What  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  It  was  not  so  much  what  she  said  as  the  way 
she  looked.  She  asked  timidly,  '  How  is  he  ?  '  I 
told  her  he  had  been  wonderfully  well  of  late.  I 
told  her  he  was  in  London.  She  was  evidently 
greatly  surprised.  '  In  London  ?  '  she  repeated." 

Constance  interrupted  :  "  I  expected  to  have  told 
her  of  his  going  to  London ;  I  inquired  of  her 
whether  she  wished  to  hear  about  Glen's  move 
ments,  and  she  said  no ;  she  preferred  to  know  no 
thing  about  him." 

"  Perverse,  foolish  little  girl  that  she  is  !  "  Hali- 
burton  said ;  then  went  on  :  "I  informed  her  that 
he  was  to  sail  for  home  four  days  after  she  took 
the  steamer  for  Havre,  and  for  a  moment  she  gazed 


YOUTH  AND  ART.  319 

at  me  breathless,  and  seemed  about  to  speak  impul 
sively  ;  then,  after  reflecting,  she  said,  '  Is  it  pos 
sible  ?  '  No  more,  no  less.  '  Is  it  possible  ?  ' : 

"  And  that  made  it  clear  to  you  that  she  is  still 
in  love  with  Glen  ?  "  Constance  asked. 

"  Quite  clear." 

"  Well,"  said  Constance,  "  I  admit  that  I  agree 
with  you.  Still,  if  she  takes  up  a  new  life,  with 
new  aims  and  motives,  new  industries,  new  ac 
quaintances,  it  is  not  improbable  that  all  this  early 
feeling  may  pass  away  and  leave  no  trace." 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Haliburton.  "  Constance,  I 
want  you  to  let  her  marry  Glen." 

"  Yes,  I  think  you  do.  It  has  influenced  me  a 
little.  Still,  Teddy  Darrow  is,  I  fancy,  a  better 
choice  for  her." 

"  Teddy  Darrow,"  Haliburton  exclaimed  almost 
with  wrath.  "He  will  make  a  good  lawyer  no 
doubt,  —  he  might  even  make  Kitty  a  good  hus 
band,  but "  — 

"  You  want  her  to  marry  Glen." 

"  I  want  to  see  Glen  settled  and  happy." 


CHAPTER  XXV- 

THE   WAY   OF   A    MAID. 

STRANGE  to  relate,  when  Kitty  came  down  the 
gang-plank  at  Havre  she  could  not  help  looking  to 
the  right  and  left,  as  if  she  expected  some  one  to 
meet  her.  And  yet  she  knew  very  well  that  Glen- 
denning  Rennie  was  to  sail  on  the  26th,  and  that 
they  must  in  a  way  have  passed  each  other  on  the 
ocean  two  days  before.  Still,  why  had  Mr.  Hali- 
burton  whispered  to  her,  as  he  bade  her  good-by 
on  the  steamer  a  week  and  a  day  before,  "  If  you 
see  Glen,  be  a  little  good  to  him,  Kitty,  for  my 
sake"  ? 

How  could  she  see  Glen?  Still,  it  has  to  be 
confessed,  that  all  through  the  voyage,  Kitty 
had  thought  of  what  she  should  say  to  him  if  she 
did  meet  him.  It  would  have  been  better,  possibly, 
if  Haliburton  had  not  put  the  idea  in  her  head. 
For,  suddenly  —  as  she  walked  toward  the  train 
for  Paris,  Glen  was  there.  He  was  shaking  hands 
with  Mr.  Willoughby,  with  Mrs.  Willoughby,  with 
Blanche,  with  Alice,  even  with  little  Jack ;  he  was 
laughing  and  talking  with  Agatha  Darrow ;  the 
only  person  in  the  whole  party  he  had  not  observed 
was  Kitty  herself.  Twice  Glen  had  almost  touched 


THE   WAY   OF  A  MAID.  321 

her  dress,  but  he  had  not  yet  glanced  towards  her. 
It  was  just  as  well  perhaps,  for,  in  spite  of  all  the 
mental  preparation,  Kitty  found  the  reality  of  meet 
ing  Glen,  at  least  of  hearing  his  voice  and  being 
conscious  of  his  proximity,  something  quite  differ- 
|  ent  from  her  idea  of  it.  Was  it  that  the  mal 
\  de  mer  still  pursued  her,  that  the  planks  beneath 
her  feet  suddenly  seemed  to  rise  at  a  right  angle, 
—  so  that  it  was  like  walking  up  a  steep  roof  ?  that 
when  they  paused  before  the  open  carriage-door  an 
abyss  had  to  be  leaped  before  she  could  gain  the 
step  ?  In  fact,  the  world  was  turning  round  to 
Kitty.  She  was  sure  of  nothing  until  she  pre 
sently  found  herself  seated  with  her  back  to  the 
,  engine,  beside  the  window  of  a  first-class  carriage, 
:  opposite  Mrs.  Willoughby.  Next  to  Mrs.  Wil 
loughby  was  Blanche  who  was  still  white  and  ca 
daverous  from  the  voyage,  and  was  being  propped 
up  with  cushions  by  —  by  whom?  By  Glenden- 
ning  Rennie,  who  was  somehow  established  on  the 
tleft  of  Kitty. 

"  You  know,"  he  said  to  her  presently,  "  I  ex- 
;pect  to  catch  the  steamer  at  Cherbourg  early  to 
morrow.  But  I  am  going  almost  as  far  as  Paris 
iwith  you." 

She  did  not  reply. 

"  Suppose,"  he  said,  after  a  little  pause,  "  you 
jwere  to  take  off  that  veil." 

The  whisper  reached  only  Kitty's  ear.  Mrs. 
Willoughby,  solicitous  for  Blanche,  was  feeding  her 
'with  the  essence  of  beef.  Where  were  the  others  ? 


322  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

The  carriage  was  full,  but  Agatha  was  not  to  be 
seen,  nor  Mr.  Willoughby,  nor  Alice,  nor  Jack, 
nor  the  maid. 

Kitty  lifted  the  gray  veil  from  her  face.  It  was 
a  compromise  between  her  principles  and  compara 
tive  comfort.  She  could  not,  of  course,  obey 
Glen ;  still  it  was  necessary  to  have  a  chance  to 
breathe. 

"  Where  are  the  others  ?  "  she  inquired,  with  ap 
parent  nonchalance. 

"  What  others  ?  I  feel  as  if  there  were  nobody 
in  the  whole  wide  world  save  you  and  me." 

Kitty,  leaning  forward,  addressed  Mrs.  Wil 
loughby  and  Blanche  with  suavity.  Tempest-tossed 
and  worn  out  as  the  two  were,  they  were  not  in 
a  mood  for  conversation,  but  she  elicited  the  fact 
that  the  party  had  been  obliged  to  divide  as  the 
carriages  were  so  full.  Kitty  helped  to  make  the 
ladies  comfortable  ;  she  put  her  dressing-case  under 
their  feet,  and  drew  down  the  blind.  In  five  minutes 
Mrs.  Willoughby,  supporting  Blanche's  head  on  her 
shoulder,  was,  like  her  daughter,  fast  asleep.  Prac 
tically  it  was  as  Glen  had  said,  —  he  and  Kitty  were 
alone  in  the  world.  The  other  occupants  of  the 
carriage  were  strangers.  Had  he  not  planned  it  ? 
Did  he  not  know  the  good  Mrs.  Willoughby  and 
the  drowsy  Blanche  ?  Had  he  riot  hurried  the  alert 
Mr.  Willoughby  and  Alice,  not  to  say  Agatha  Dar- 
row,  into  the  other  carriage  ? 

Kitty  had  huddled  into  her  corner. 

"  Look  at  me,  Kitty,"  Glen  said  to  her. 


THE    WAY  OF  A  MAID.  323 

She  lifted  a  white,  woeful  face.  She  had  not 
Teally  seen  him  before,  —  had  only  been  conscious 
of  his  presence.  He  was  so  vividly,  ardently  alive, 
Avith  his  dark,  imperious  glance,  his  smiling  lips, 
that  she  caught  her  breath. 

"  Have  you  forgotten  me  in  these  few  weeks  ?  " 
the  demanded. 

She  hesitated  before  making  any  reply. 

"What  is  it  all  about?"  he  asked,  laying  his 
.hand  on  hers.  "  John  cabled  to  me  a  week  ago 
•yesterday, '  Meet  Kitty,  Havre  29th.'  I  was  utterly 
Habbergasted." 

"•  Flabbergasted  ? "  repeated  Kitty  blankly. 
I' What  is  that?" 

"  It  is  what  a  fellow  feels  when  the  girl  he  sup- 
bosed  to  be  safely  at  home,  sewing  her  seam  and 
reading  her  primer,  suddenly  begins  to  run  around 
pie  world  after  him." 

i    "I  had  no  idea  you  were  in  Europe  —  until  — 
until  a  little  while  before  we  sailed,"  said  Kitty. 
:    "  You  would  n't  have  thought  of  coming  if  you 
>iad  known  you  were  running  into  my  arms  ?  " 
':    "No." 

\  "A  few  days  after  I  had  the  dispatch  a  letter 
:ame  from  John,"  Glen  proceeded.  He  no  longer 
railed ;  he  almost  frowned  instead.  Her  glance 
.•'ouhl  not  meet  his.  "  He  told  me  that  you  had 
jiot  been  quite  on  satisfactory  terms  with  the  mar- 
hesa,  — that,  against  her  wishes,  you  were  coming 
o  Paris  to  study  art." 

He  looked  at  her,  waiting  for  an  answer. 


324  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

"Am  I  not  to  be  reckoned  with?"  lie  de 
manded. 

"No." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Kitty  ?  " 

"  Mamma  can  tell  you."  Kitty  lifted  her  heavy 
eyelids,  and  looked  him  straight  in  the  face. 

"  But  it  is  from  you  I  want  to  hear  it.  A  little 
while  ago,  —  in  fact  until  now,  —  although  a  hint 
had  come  before,  I  did  believe  you  loved  me." 

"You  tell  me  that!"  she  said  impetuously; 
"  you  dare  to  taunt  me  with  it !  " 

"  Kitty !  "  exclaimed  Glen  under  his  breath,  ab 
solutely  aghast  at  her  words  and  tone.  But  his 
hand  still  pressed  hers  as  it  lay  on  the  folds  of  her 
dress.  Let  it  flutter  as  it  might,  he  would  not  let 
it  go. 

"  Let  us  understand  each  other,"  he  whispered' 
in  her  ear.  "  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart  and' 
soul ;  I  love  you  with  the  first  real  love  of  my  life." 

A  little  cry  escaped  her. 

"  Is  it  my  unlucky  book  that  has  come  between 
us  ?  "  he  now  asked.  "  Ever  since  John  wrote,  I 
have  been  puzzling  my  wits  over  the  problem.  Can 
it  possibly  be  that"  He  broke  off.  He  saw  at 
a  glance  that  his  suggestion  came  home  to  her. 
They  exchanged  a  serious,  thoughtful  glance.  He 
took  out  his  watch,  glanced  at  its  face,  then  put  it 
back  in  his  pocket.  "  I  have  just  forty-three 
minutes  more  with  you,"  he  said.  "  Then  we  part. 
I  am  not  quite  sure  what  you  are  thinking  and 
feeling ;  but  I  wish  to  make  it  clear  to  you  what  is  \ 


THE   WAY  OF  A  MAID.  325 

in  my  mind.     Will  you  try  to  listen  ?     Will  you 
dismiss  prejudice  ?    Will  you  be  candid  and  just  ?  " 

She  bowed  her  head. 

"  If  I  have  treated  you  a  little  too  much  as  a  child 

—  have  I  ?  "     She  looked  at  him  silently.     "It  is 
not  that  I  did  not  expect  some  time  to  be  brought  to 
book.     Nobody  but  myself  knows  just  how  certain 
impulses  have  worked  themselves  out  in  me.     The 
first  time  I  ever  saw  your  mother  it  was  when  she 
was  a  girl  of  fourteen   or    fifteen.     She  was  dis 
tributing  gifts  from  a  Christmas-tree  at  Mrs.  Am- 
bury's,  my  great-grandmother's,  in  the  room  where 
we  ate  dinner  last  summer     She  wore  a  red  dress 
trimmed  with  white  fur.     I  was  an  awkward,  long- 
legged  boy  of  twelve  or  thirteen.     From  that  mo 
ment  to  this  I  have  adored  her.     I  adore  her  still, 

—  I  shall  always  adore  her.     I  recall  at  this  mo 
ment  the  way  she  advanced  from  the  Christmas-tree 
and  gave  me  a  pair  of  skates.    '  These  are  for  you, 
I  think,'  she  said,  and  smiled,  just  as  she  smiles 
now.    I  was  ready  to  fall  on  my  knees.    From  that 
day  to  this  she  has  been   just  the    same,  —  pure, 
magnificent,  unapproachable.    I  was  an  imaginative 
boy,  and  she  seemed  necessary  to  my  happiness. 
Years  later,  when  I  met  her  in  Italy  one  summer, 
when  you  were  six  years  old  " 

"•  Do  not  tell  me,"  murmured  Kitty.  "  Please 
do  not  tell  me." 

He  saw  that  her  face  was  quivering. 

"  Either  I  must  tell  you  everything,  or  you  must 
forget  it." 


326  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

"  I  cannot  forget  it/'  She  said  this  with  pas 
sionate  indignation. 

When  he  saw  the  shudder  that  passed  through 
her  his  impulse  changed.  He  had  believed  that 
when  he  should  tell  Kitty  the  whole  story  of  those 
nights  when  he  used  to  walk  up  and  down  the 
seashore  with  the  effervescence  of  all  sorts  of  hopes 
and  fears  and  longings  in  his  heart  and  mind,  the 
youthful  ferment  which  hindered  sleep  and  had 
somehow  to  be  poured  out  in  words,  and  finally  crys 
tallized  into  the  sonnets  of  "  Love  Unfulfilled,"  — 
he  had  believed  that  Kitty,  like  himself,  would  he 
ready  to  smile  at  his  sufferings,  his  folly,  his  inca 
pacity  for  understanding  that  Constance  was  not 
for  him  nor  he  for  her ;  that  although  he  had 
needed  to  see  her,  to  talk  with,  to  listen  to  her,  to  feel 
that  there  was  a  tie  between  them,  it  was  simply  en- 1 
thusiastic,  youthful  devotion,  —  no  more.  But  the 
time  for  Kitty  to  understand  this  had  not  yet  come. 

".  Kitty,"  he  now  said,  "  we  will  discuss  this 
later,  —  say  five  years  hence,  —  when  we  have  been 
married  long  enough  to  have  no  illusions  and  no 
mistakes  about  each  other." 

"  Never,  never,  never !  "  said  Kitty  impetuously. 

"  When  you  have  found  out  that  I  love  the  mar- 
chesa  very  much  the  same  way  you  love  her,  and 
when  you  know,  know  in  every  fibre  of  your  being, 
that  it  is  you  I  love  with  the  only  real  love  I  ever 
felt  in  my  whole  life,  —  not  with  my  intellect,  not 
with  my  imagination,  but  with  my  heart  and  soul 
and  body,  —  you  will  understand  then  why  it  was 


THE   WAY  OF  A  MAID.  327 

that,  although  I  have  little  enough  to  offer  you  ex 
cept  this  love,  you  could  not  help  taking  up  with  me, 
1  because  there  exists  between  us  an  indissoluble  bond 
•  of  feeling.  I  do  believe  that  you  cannot  help  loving 
line,  just  as  I  cannot  help  loving  you  and  wishing 
[to  live  with  you  and  having  every  sweet  moment 
j  of  your  life,  as  it  were,  framed  in  mine.  Of  course 
:I  am  not  half  good  enough  for  you." 

Her  hand,  until  this  moment  turned  palm  down- 
s  wards,  suddenly  slid  round  in  Glen's,  whose  face 
|  and  manner  and  tone  had  shown  her  that  he 
[wished  to  lay  bare  the  quivering  roots  of  all  his 
^feelings.  His  whole  figure  vibrated  with  emotion. 
I  She  could  not  help  responding. 

"  I  think,"'  he  now  said,  with  an  agitated  laugh, 
I"  that  we  may  be  married  by  this  time  next  year." 

"  No,  that  cannot  be,  —  it  can  never  be,"  Kitty 
(returned.  "  I  am  grateful  for  all  you  say,  but  it 
lean  never  be." 

He  drew  out  his  watch  again. 

"  Just  thirteen  minutes  before  we  reach  Clichy 
iwhere  I  must  leave  you.  I  must  catch  the  train 
from  Paris." 

"  Thirteen  minutes  !  "     Their  eyes  met. 

"  I  never  in  my  life  heard  such  nonsense  as  your 
•and  Gatty's  going  to  Paris  to  study  art,"  he  now 
observed.  "  Thank  heaven  it  will  amount  to  no 
thing  very  wonderful." 

"  I  intend  to  work  with  all  my  heart  and  soul." 

"  Put  your  art  between  us,  —  between  your  love 
for  me  and  mine  for  you  ?  " 


328  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

She  nodded  ;  she  almost  smiled,  then  checked  the 
unworthy  impulse. 

"  Gatty  said  you  would  be  a  skeptical,  scoffing 
critic  ;  would  laugh  at  us,  emphasize  all  our  faults, 
and  see  no  good  in  our  work."  Kitty  said  this  in 
quite  her  usual  voice  and  tone.  "  But  we  are  go 
ing  to  believe  in  ourselves." 

"  There  are  ten  thousand  too  many  artists  all 
ready,"  said  Glen ;  "  but  no  matter.  Go  on  and 
perpetrate  more  abominations.  I  shall  write  to 
you  twice  a  week  hereafter.  Remember,  Kitty,  — 
no  adventures !  " 

She  listened  with  impatience. 

He  held  his  watch  up  to  her. 

"  Five  minutes  and  then  no  more  until  I  come 
for  you,"  he  said. 

Her  head  drooped. 

"  I  shall  see  your  mother,"  he  whispered. 
"What  shall  I  tell  her?" 

Kitty  raised  her  head.  "  Tell  her,"  she  be 
gan, - 

"  Yes." 

"  Tell  her  —  but  no,  not  that  "  - 

"  What  shall  I  tell  her  ?  " 

"  Tell  her  "  - 

"  Kitty,  there  ai'e  only  twenty  seconds.'' 

She  was  silent,  but  looked  at  him  with  a  curious 
pain  and  perplexity. 

"  We  are  parting,  Kitty.  Kitty,  do  you  know 
that  we  are  parting  ?  What  shall  I  tell  your  mo 
ther?" 


THE   WAY  OF  A  MAID.  329 

She  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"  You  know,"  she  faltered. 

"  I  only  know  one  thing  and  that  is,  that  I  love 
you,  —  that  I  have  to  leave  you." 

In  another  moment  the  train  had  stopped.  Glen 
let  himself  out,  but  continued  to  stand  on  the  plat 
form  gazing  at  Kitty  with  a  look  that  gripped  her 
heart.  She  pulled  down  her  sash  and  leaned  out. 

"  Tell  her  that  I  miss  her  every  moment,"  she 
said. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

LOVE   FULFILLED. 

WHEN  Glen  gave  Constance  Kitty's  message 
she  said,  — 

"  Oh,  I  do  not  doubt  that  Kitty  loves  me  still, 
—  she  must  inevitably  miss  me,  but  —  she  has 
gone  away  from  me." 

"  I  do  not  think  she  is  so  far  away  but  that  I 
can  bring  her  back,"  said  Glen.  "  I  have  given 
you  a  great  deal  of  trouble  in  my  life,  Conny,  but 
perhaps  I  may  be  able  to  atone  for  a  little  of  it." 

Constance  looked  at  him  and  smiled.  The 
pallor  and  trouble  of  her  face  had  communicated 
themselves  to  him.  The  pang  of  sympathy  he  felt 
had  kindled  strong  feeling  in  his  glance.  As  her 
eyes  met  his  a  sudden  intuition  darted  with  an 
electrical  force  through  all  her  mental  being,  giving 
her  a  revelation  of  the  future.  Something  of  re 
verence,  of  chastened  tenderness  in  his  look  and 
tone,  showed  Constance  that  she  was  now  to  him 
the  mother  of  Kitty.  And,  on  her  side,  she  found 
in  the  man  who  loved  Kitty  and  whom  Kitty 
loved  a  worth,  a  dignity,  a  strength,  she  had  never 
recognized  in  the  old  Glen  Rennie.  She  who  had 
expected  to  make  Kitty's  life  for  her  found  herself 


LOVE  FULFILLED.  331 

powerless  to  arrest  a  destiny  which  was  working 
itself  out  irresistibly.  But,  after  all,  she  had  desired 
only  to  make  her  child  noble,  and  if  Kitty  had 
given  Glen  a  new  impulse  and  purpose  in  his  life, 
why  surely  that  was  a  reward. 

The  issues  of  a  lifetime  are  not  seldom  decided 
in  a  moment,  and  in  this  moment  Constance  lived 
down  her  pang.  It  would  no  longer  hurt  her 
pride,  her  self-love,  that  she  must  trust  Glen  to  do 
for  her  what  she  could  not  do  for  herself.  She 
had  said  before  that  her  renunciation  was  com 
plete,  —  but  it  had  not  been.  She  had  tried  to 
reconcile  herself  to  the  inevitable.  She  did  not 
complain.  The  house  was  ordered  in  just  the  old, 
pleasant  way.  John  Haliburton  came  often  and 
sometimes  stayed  long.  Never  was  opportunity 
more  propitious  for  a  man  to  prove  his  devotion, 
but  Haliburton  had  not  ventured  to  speak  an 
other  word  of  what  lay  close  to  his  heart.  "  Here 
I  am,  at  your  orders,"  his  manner  may  have  said 
to  Constance's  womanly  perceptions,  but  he  and 
she  and  Richard  Amory  talked  of  business,  gossip, 
politics,  and  the  books  they  read,  as  if  there  were 
no  nearer  and  dearer  subject  in  the  world. 

Kitty  wrote  once  a  week  to  her  mother  and  de 
scribed  hers  and  Gatty's  life.  Glen  wrote  to  her 
constantly  but  she  had  not  answered  his  letters,  so 
he  told  Constance.  Glen  was  working  hard  and 
working  well.  He  had  told  Kitty  he  should  be 
able  to  have  a  wife  by  another  year,  and  he  asked 
her  to  find  him  one  in  Paris.  She  must  have  no 


332  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

nonsense  about  her ;  she  must  be  domestic,  not  a 
bit  of  a  Bohemian  ;  she  must  be  delightfully  pretty, 
and  she  must  adore  himself. 

It  was  Constance  who  finally  said  to  Kitty  in 
one  of  her  letters,  "  Why  do  you  never  write  to 
Glen  ?  lie  is  wonderfully  brightened  and  improved, 
but  he  works  too  hard,  and  I  think  he  needs  the 
refreshment  of  a  word  from  you." 

Kitty  inclosed  this  note  in  the  envelope  contain 
ing  a  letter  to  her  mother  :  — 

PARIS,  HUE  Du  BAC,  February  the  tenth. 

DEAR  COUSIN  GLEN,  —  Mamma  says  I  may 
write  to  you,  and  I  make  use  of  the  opportunity  in 
order,  at  once,  to  thank  you  for  your  delightful 
and  amusing  letters,  and  to  tell  you  that  some  of 
my  work  is  very  well  spoken  of,  and  that  there 
seems  a  good  prospect  of  my  having  a  medal  in  the 
spring.  It  is  very  encouraging  to  me.  So  long 
as  I  was  only  tantalized  by  a  hope  that  I  possessed 
some  originality  I  could  not  feel  sure  that  I  ought 
to  devote  myself  to  this  career.  But  I  am  now 
determined.  In  spite  of  the  short  days  I  work 
almost  ten  hours.  Gatty's  eyes  have  troubled  her 
of  late,  and  she  has  been  going  out  a  good  deal 
into  society  with  the  Willoughbys.  I  am  always 
in  bed  before  ten  o'clock,  and  am,  most  affection 
ately  and  gratefully, 

Your  cousin, 
CATERINA  MARIA  FRANCESCA  BERTINI. 


LOVE  FULFILLED.  333 

It  was  about  ten  days  after  Constance  had  for 
warded  tins  note  to  Glen  that  Miss  Darrow  called 
to  see  her.  The  Ambury  D  arrows  had  gone  to 
their  town  house  in  December,  and  Constance  had 
met  them  rarely.  Sue  now  came  out  to  tell  the 
news  of  Agatha's  engagement  to  Dr.  Eugene  Dow, 
Mr.  Willoughby's  nephew,  who  was  studying  sur 
gery  in  Paris. 

Constance  received  the  announcement  as  if  she 
were  stunned.  She  had  all  the  time  been  dreading 
lest  she  should  receive  some  tidings  of  a  fresh 
problem  in  Kitty's  conduct,  and  her  imagination 
at  once  galloped  away  towards  some  possible  lover 
for  her  child. 

"  I  came  to  tell  you,"  Sue  now  explained,  "  be 
cause  Gatty  wrote  that  Kitty  was  very  unhappy 
about  the  affair ;  feels  that  it  is  a  lowering  of 
ideals,  —  accepting  mere  humdrum  and  common 
place.  Gatty  said,  in  fact,  that  she  rather  doubted 
whether  Kitty  would  condescend  to  speak  of  it  at 
all." 

"  She  has  not,"  Constance  said,  with  a  wistful, 
anxious  face.  "  What  difference  will  it  make  in 
Agatha's  plans  ?  " 

"They  will  be  married  here  in  June  probably  — 
perhaps  a  little  later.  He  will  have  finished  his 
courses  in  May.  It  seems  so  wonderful  to  us  all 
that  there  is  to  be  a  wedding  in  the  family,"  Sue 
went  on.  "  Eugene  Dow  is  not  a  great  hero,  but 
I  think  there  must  be  a  vast  amount  of  romance 
in  us  all  hitherto  latent.  We  go  round  hugging 


334  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

and  kissing  one  another,  and  poppa  is  so  excited  he 
has  to  entrust  all  the  business  to  John  Haliburton." 
Sue  paused,  looked  at  Constance  with  an  intense, 
steady  gaze.  "  Conny  Amory,"  she  demanded,  after 
she  had  made  the  pause  impressive,  "why  don't 
you  marry  John  Haliburton  and  put  him  out  of  his 
misery  ?  " 

"  Must  everybody  be  married  because  Agatha 
is  ?  "  said  Constance,  smiling  and  coloring. 

"  You  are  a  regular  dog  in  the  manger,"  Sue 
persisted.  "  You  will  neither  make  him  happy 
yourself,  nor  let  another  woman  make  him  happy." 

Sue  got  herself  away  as  soon  as  possible  after 
this  outburst,  which  embarrassed  her  almost  as 
much  as  it  embarrassed  Constance.  She  left  the 
latter  with  a  good  deal  to  reflect  upon.  What  was 
to  become  of  Kitty  in  Paris?  Was  there  actually 
to  be  a  career  ?  A  quick  spring  in  her  veins  for 
some  sort  of  action  sent  her  thoughts  traveling. 
She  needed  movement,  she  needed  out-of-door  air 
to  still  the  unrest  within  her.  It  was  a  cold,  windy 
March  day ;  threatening  clouds  had  hung  lowering, 
but  neither  rain  nor  snow  had  fallen.  Now  to 
wards  night  a  golden  ring  ran  across  the  west. 
She  wrapped  her  fur-lined  cloak  about  her  shoul 
ders,  put  a  little  cap  of  fur  on  her  head,  thrust  her 
bare  hands  into  a  muff,  and  ran  out  for  a  turn  on 
the  terrace.  She  had  not  taken  ten  steps  before 
she  met  Haliburton.  She  put  her  hand  on  his 
coat-sleeve. 

"  Oh  John,"  she  said,  "I  wanted  to  see  you." 


LOVE  FULFILLED.  335 

Halibtirton  kissed  her  on  the  lips  as  she  lifted 
her  eager  face. 

"  You  know  what  I  told  you,"  he  murmured. 
"  The  moment  you  call  me  John  I  have  gone  raving 
mad." 

Constance  wrote  to  Kitty  that  night  that  she  felt 
more  than  a  little  foolish  in  confessing  that  she 
was  about  to  make  a  third  marriage ;  but  that 
when  Mr.  Haliburton  had  insisted,  she  had  not  the 
strength  of  mind  to  contradict  him. 

"  Mr.  Haliburton  has  been  attached  to  me  a 
good  many  years,"  Constance  went  on ;  "  and  his 
affection  has  that  satisfying  quality  about  it  which 
makes  me  feel  that  nobody  has  quite  loved  and  be 
lieved  in  me  before.  I  suppose  I  love  him.  But 
that  is  not  the  point.  The  point  is  that  I  can  put 
my  hands  in  his  and  say,  '  Think  for  me,  choose 
for  me  :  I  trust  in  you  absolutely.' 

"Accordingly,  he  has  decided  everything.  He 
and  your  uncle  Richard,  that  is,  —  for  I  find  that 
my  brother  has  hoped  that  I  should  marry  Mr. 
Haliburton.  Although  the  arrangement  is  only  a 
few  hours  old,  all  is  settled,  cut  and  dried.  We 
are  to  be  married  on  Easter  Tuesday,  and  sail  for 
Europe  the  next  day.  Not  only  Mr.  Haliburton 
and  I,  but  your  uncle  Richard  is  going  with  us. 
He  says  he  wants  Kitty  to  take  him  to  Fontaine- 
bleau  Forest.  We  have  sent  word  to  Glen  of  what 
has  happened,  and  await,  with  some  expectation  of 
being  amused,  what  he  will  say." 


336  THE  REVOLT  OF  A   DAUGHTER. 

Kitty  had  read  her  mother's  letter,  stirred  to  the 
very  depths  of  feeling.  She  recognized  on  the  in 
stant,  with  an  acuteness  of  perception  which  showed 
her  the  whole  truth  as  by  a  lightning  flash,  that  she 
had  been  wrong-headed,  wicked,  cruel.  She  fell 
on  her  knees.  "  Oh  mamma,  mamma,"  she  cried, 
"  forgive  me,  oh  forgive  me  !  "  Then  in  the  silence 
she  whispered,  "Oh  God,  forgive  me  and  make 
mamma  forgive  me  !  " 

She  was  all  alone  ;  Gatty  was  away,  would  not 
be  back  for  hours.  There  was  no  one  to  whom 
Kitty  could  speak.  The  thoughts,  sensations,  feel 
ings,  pent  up  within  her  had  to  overflow,  not  in 
words,  but  in  self-communings  which  penetrated, 
which  investigated,  which  illumined.  Kitty  needed 
just  this  silence,  this  solitude,  this  intense  personal 
conviction  of  the  wrong  she  had  done  her  mother. 
The  scathing  condemnation  which  she  now  passed 
on  herself  for  her  own  selfish  preoccupation  was,  per 
haps,  a  little  exaggerated  ;  but  it  was  necessary  to 
swing  as  far  to  the  right  as  she  had  swung  to  the 
left  to  balance  at  the  imperious  point  of  duty. 
The  only  trouble  was  that  she  could  not  resist  feel 
ing  happy.  Something  seemed  to  burst  asunder  in 
her  mind  ;  she  had  regained  freedom,  joy,  hope. 

She  had  received  two  letters.  One  she  had  not 
yet  opened.  She  hardly  dared  open  it.  It  was 
from  Glen.  Her  heart  beat ;  her  ardent  southern 
face  flamed  with  warm  color.  She  put  the  seal  to 
her  lips,  she  gazed  hungrily  at  the  superscription. 
Why  should  she  dread  to  open  it?  Surely  she 


LOVE  FULFILLED.  337 

need  not  torment  herself.  She  cut  the  envelope, 
then,  reading  the  first  lines,  she  laughed  aloud. 
This  was  Glen's  letter  :  — 

NEW  YORK,  llth  March,  189-. 

MY  OWN  LITTLE  KITTY,  —  Is  it  not  the  most 
wonderful,  the  most  delightful,  the   most  proper, 
the  most  inevitable,  thing  that  ever  happened  in 
the  world,  —  the  most  unexpected,  the  most  incredi 
ble,  the  most  unheard  of,  the  most  to  be  wished, 
the  most  to  be  desired,  the  most  to  be  thankful 
for?    And  to  think  of  my  blindness !    I  see  clearly 
now  that  I  was  a  chuckle-headed  idiot  not  to  have 
(known   it    all  the    time.     I  have   said  to   Conny 
jmore   than   once  that  she  ought  to  have  married 
!John,  and  I  meant  it,  only  I  saw  it  in  the  ab- 
( stract ;  it  is  only  now  that  I  accept  its  possibility 
in  the  concrete.     I  'm  so  perfectly  enchanted   to 
jhave  my  dear  old  John  happy.     Then,  too,  I  'm 
perfectly  enchanted  to  have  the  marchesa  happy. 
LI  For  John  has  the  trick ;  he  '11  make  her  the  hap- 
>piest  woman  she  ever  was  yet. 

But,  my  dear  Signorina  Caterina  Maria  Francesca 

Bertini,  if  you  suppose  I  am  going  to  look  on  and  see 

all  the  rest  of  the  world  happy  and  be  myself  lonely 

i  and  miserable,  you  little  understand  me.    I  '11  give 

them  three  days  with  you,  then  I  shall  arrive  by 

',  the  French  steamer.     When  I  arrive,  you  and  I  will 

!go  out  shopping  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  and  buy  an 

[engagement  ring.     The  next  day  we  will  go  and 

[  buy  the  sweetest  little  trousseau  for  my  bride,  — 

all  the  charming  fluffy  things  Paris  can  furnish. 


338  THE  REVOLT  OF  A  DAUGHTER. 

Then,  for  the  third  and  last  time,  we  '11  go  out  and 
buy  a  wedding-ring  for  the  prettiest  little  finger 
in  the  world,  belonging  to  the  hand  that  I  adore, 
that  I  kiss,  that  I  claim.  No  more  to-day. 

Yours  forever, 

GLEN. 


CAMBRIDGE,   MASSACHUSETTS,  U.  S.   A. 

ELECTROTYPED  AND  PRINTED  BY 

H.  O.  HOUGHTON  AND  CO. 


Date  Due 


PRINTED   IN   U.S. 


CAT.   NO.   24    161 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  545  987     o 


